


Facade

by TenebrisMelodiam



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Death, Drama, F/M, Original Male Character - Freeform, Romance, Sex/Intimacy in later chapters, Swearing, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenebrisMelodiam/pseuds/TenebrisMelodiam
Summary: It all started with that damn critique of his artwork. You offered him praise for his vision, and in turn, he ended up praising you in more ways than you could imagine.





	1. Criticism At Its Finest

**Pairing:**   _Stefano Valentini x Reader/Female Protagonist (18+)_

**Rating** : _Mature (M)_

**Warnings:**   _Alcohol consumption_

**Notes** _: Author’s Notes will be included at the end of each chapter to provide insight to certain topics, events, and ideals. Warnings will be chapter-specific, and will be included at the beginning of each chapter._

**Current Time** _: November, 2015_

_=2=_

_“…no matter how much one takes in this most recent work of – should I dare call it such – art, the vision of it is nothing short of dull, incomprehensibly bland, and incredibly awkward to look at. Despite the populous continuously declaring his artistic vision as deranged, nightmarish, and abhorrent, the photographer seemingly carries on—but for how much longer?_

_Though Mr. Valentini possesses a decent ability in producing photography, his vision and what he deems ‘beautiful’ is incredibly lackluster and, judging by the countless other scathing critics that stand alongside me in critiquing Mr. Valentini’s creations, just isn’t needed or necessary within the artist community_.”

Soft lips twisted into a noticeable scowl as the male’s wrist flicked away from his body, the newspaper that had previously been grasped within his fingertips flopping down upon the empty seat beside him. A heavy sigh passed through his lips, his palms now rubbing against the front of his face as he contemplated what he had just read—no matter what wonderous beauty he displayed to the world, these imbecilic critics never seemed to understand his vision. How could they ever understand his vision when they were nothing more than over-glorified neophytes who claimed to have a basic understanding of what should and should not be considered a work of art?

The male groaned as he moved his hands away from his face, the soft, black bangs of his hair draping back over his right eye once more as he did so. His left eye glanced over at the newspaper now resting upon the chair beside him, and even though he knew reading the remaining critiques would end in nothing but disappointment, he reached over and gripped the paper between his thumb and forefinger to bring it in front of his face once more. He narrowed his eyes at the name that sat beneath the article he had just finished reading: John Jones.

‘ _Hmph. Perhaps he should apply his description of my magnificent creations to his name. He should be ashamed to sign such a pathetic name on anything_.’

He skillfully flipped the newspaper over, neatly folding the other half underneath itself as he moved on to the next review of his work. His electric-blue eye began to scan over the page, but to both his amusement and surprise, the first line of the review caught his immediate attention.

“ _To those who have critiqued Mr. Valentini’s works in the past, how dare you call yourselves critics of the arts—you are proving to be nothing more than philistines who simply rant about things you don’t care for._ ”

Was this the one thing that he had been waiting for ever since he had began his artist career? Surely his good eye was failing him—this would be the very first time that someone had positively reviewed his works of art. However, knowing that this could very well be nothing more than a ruse, the artist refused to allow his expectations to grow too high; he had been fooled before, and he would have to continue reading to see if it had happened once more. With a now piqued interest, he continued to scan the words that lined the page.

_“How can someone who claims to be a critic of the arts deny the beauty that can be seen within Mr. Valentini’s creations? Though his vision is much different than what society deems as ‘the norm,’ that is exactly what makes his artwork so unique. He is an artist who has gone beyond the boundaries that have been set by both the artistic world and society as a whole, and I believe that is the source of such tremendous backlash. Upon viewing Mr. Valentini’s portfolio and published works of art, I immediately noticed his professionalism in the art of photography. Each picture he snaps is intricately thought out, and each one offers something new; each idea that he shares with the world is exclusive only to him, and has never been seen before by the general populous._

_I believe that Mr. Valentini has achieved a certain level of professionalism that has yet to be attained by any other photographer. However, there are those who would immediately deny this claim. In particular, I find a review of one of his older works to be quite astounding—astounding in the sense of how uninformed and uneducated it sounds. I will mention no names, but the ending of the article I will mention goes to further my previous point about how he is receiving backlash from unprofessional critics who are allowing their own ideologies to get in the way of their work. It was mentioned in this particular article that Mr. Valentini “revels in grotesquery for the sake of titillation,” but this is the furthest statement from the truth. In every image I have seen that was produced by this particular artist, the way he treats his models is almost akin to that of lovemaking. Each position is carefully tended to, each shot is delicately lit with proper lighting, and each photograph is taken with the utmost respect for the model. Yet, in the eyes of unprofessional critics, his photography is seen as nothing more than the subjugation of the female body simply for an erotic effect on the audience._

_If Mr. Valentini was taking pictures of females simply for titillation, I believe that we would know it. So, perhaps instead of allowing your own personal ideologies to get in the way of the artistry you are critiquing, you should instead revel in the beauty that Mr. Valentini offers the world and see the elegance and refinement it holds.”_

At this point, the artist was in utter shock and amazement. Never before had someone praised his artistry; not only had this critic praised his work publicly, they openly mocked those goddamn neophytes that saw no beauty in his artwork. His eye immediately dropped to the self-portrait beneath the article, and then the name that was printed beneath: ( ** _First Name_** ) ( ** _Last Name_** ). This was a critic that he had never seen before. After reading each and every article that was produced for his artwork, he had grown accustomed to seeing the same names and self-portraits at the bottom of the varying reviews; there was no doubt about it— this critic was new, and he had to admit, he held a certain affinity for her already. She was quite brave for not only criticizing the other critics publicly, but going as far as to quote one of the previous articles from them, as well. She was playing a rather dangerous game.

‘ _I recall the article this woman quoted. Susan Phi was her name, I believe, and she was quite upset that my most recent work was rather revealing of the female anatomy. It’s such an marvelous feeling to see her put in her place like this.’_

This was the first time the artist had felt such jubilation in quite a long while—never had he suspected that he would obtain his first positive review, but it was certainly something that he could grow accustomed to. He hummed to himself as he rose to his feet from the chair he had been sitting upon, newspaper still clutched within his hand, and then made his way over to the desk that sat in front of his most prized photographs that were plastered across the wall. He looked them over, a sigh of contentment passing through his lips—that one review proved to him that this was all worthwhile, and that his work must continue on. He placed the newspaper down upon the desk, gracefully tearing the article from its resting place and setting it neatly underneath the lamp that sat upon the corner of the mahogany table.

With a tender hand, his fingers curled around the camera that he held dear to him, plucking it from its resting place upon the center of the desk. He stared into the lens, his reflection causing a smile to form upon his lips. One more time, his gaze fell to the review that had invigorated him. The world was begging for a new photograph from Stefano Valentini, and now he had all the inspiration that he needed.

=2=

“Next on KCN: another model has been declared missing in the series of recent abduction-homicides. The newest victim, Morgan Augustine, was reported missing three days ago after—”

You glanced up at the television right as it was switched off, and you cocked your eyebrow as your ( ** _color_** ) eyes fell upon the bartender that was placing the remote back down upon the corner of the counter. You slid your sleeve up a bit, glancing down at the watch upon your wrist to see that it was about a quarter past eleven; the bar was surprisingly quiet, especially for a weekend. You gently tapped your middle and forefinger against the wooden counter to grab the bartender’s attention, and then gave him a small smile.

“Mind getting me a Pimm’s Cup, Vincent?”

“Ah, sure thing. Y’know, ever since you released that review about that Valentino guy, you’ve been showing up here more often.”

“ _Valentini_ , Vincent. Not Valentino. And yes, I know… the other critics in Krimson are out for my blood, now. I have a very unpopular opinion about Mr. Valentini, and I’ve already gotten several vulgar emails from the other critics about my column. I’m swear I’m not attempting to drink my sorrows away, but it’s helping take my mind off things.”

Vincent hummed softly as he grabbed a bottle from the shelf, pouring the dark liquid it held into a small cup to measure out the amount that he would need. You figured that you shouldn’t bother him further with your laments, and you sighed softly as you brought your cheek to rest upon your palm. You knew that your opinion was yours and yours alone, and no one could change that, but receiving such absurd emails from the other Krimson critics was rather depressing. After all, this was the first column you had ever managed to procure within the Krimson paper, even though you had been trying for years already. You had your moment of triumph, finally being able to call yourself a real critic, but now it was turning out to be rather distressing.

Your attention was drawn from your thoughts as a tall glass was placed in front of you, a thin, black straw sticking up from within the orangish liquid it held. You noticed that Vincent was giving you a small smile as he ran his white cloth across the countertop, and he parted his lips to speak.

“Don’t worry too much about them. After all, you finally got a column, right? For as long as I’ve known you, that’s all you’ve wanted. Screw what those other guys think— after all, how can they get so upset at your opinion when they’re literally screwing over an artist for a living? They can’t be critics if they can’t take criticism themselves.”

You felt your lips curl into a small smile upon hearing Vincent’s words, and you tipped your head forward in a nod before wrapping your fingers around the cold glass in front of you. You brought it upwards, taking a small sip of the drink through the thin straw— it was refreshing, and it was something that made the end of the day more bearable. You turned your attention to the door as a group of men stormed through it, large grins spread across their lips.

“Oi, Vincent! Fill us up, will ya? Oh! Hey, ( ** _Name_** )!”

You gave a small wave of your hand in the direction of George Cline, who was a regular visitor to this particular bar. You watched as the group of about eight or nine men plopped down at one of the large booths that sat against the wall, and then rolled your eyes before taking another long sip of your drink. You heard Cline and his buddies laughing loudly at whatever topic they were currently on about, and then noticed that Vincent had already begun filling up several jugs of beer. You watched as the fluid filled each cup, the white foam gently running over the sides on the occasion that Vincent happened to fill one up a bit too much. The bar was finally beginning to grow in terms of how many people were within it, the entrance to the building opening and closing constantly as new customers made their way inside. Thankfully, most were with friends or family and took the booths—you weren’t really in the mood to have people crowding around you at the front bar.

Once more, you slid the sleeve of your shirt up a bit to take a peek at your watch, and the time was now fifteen minutes past midnight. Had it really been that long, already? You exhaled deeply, moving your straw to the side to take a rather large gulp out of your glass. You then gripped the tip of your straw between your thumb and forefinger, poking the opposite end into one of the pieces of strawberry that lay resting at the bottom of the glass; once you had successfully done this, you brought it to your lips and popped it into your mouth. It was sweet, the slight taste of alcohol mixed in with the juice as you crushed it between your teeth. You absentmindedly began to stir the remains of your drink within your glass, your ( ** _color_** ) eyes staring off into whatever space you were currently visiting.

“Pardon, _buon uomo,_ perhaps you could prepare an Americano for this parched artist?”

The sound of a voice coming from your right pulled you back down to earth, and you gave a quick shake of your head to clear away any clouds in your mind. You then cleared your throat, bringing your glass to your lips and finally finishing off whatever liquid remained within it. Even though you didn’t want to drink too much, your apartment was only a small walk from here, and you wouldn’t mind having just one more drink.

“Vincent, would you mind making me a Negroni? It’ll be my last drink for tonight.”

A hum was heard from the man behind the counter, and you sighed deeply before rubbing your temples with your thumb and forefinger. It was going to be a long night, but that was alright. It wasn’t too often that you went out and drank like this, so there was no real harm in it.

“I see you have a marvelous taste in alcohol, my friend.”

You inhaled deeply— as much as you had tried to avoid speaking to anyone other than Vincent tonight, it would seem as though attention had been drawn to you. Once you had exhaled your breath through your nose, you turned your head and parted your lips in preparation to answer the man. However, you immediately stopped upon laying eyes upon him; your words caught in your throat, and you sat up straight as you ran your eyes along his figure. He was donned in a navy suit, a red scarf curled elegantly around his neck, and his forefinger, which was encased in a maroon leather glove, tapped gently upon the countertop. You then turned your attention to his face, where soft, raven-colored hair draped neatly over his right eye; your gaze then met with his left eye, which was a beautiful shade of electric blue, and you swallowed nervously. There, sitting right beside you, was Stefano Valentini—the man you had worked so tirelessly to defend in your column.

“I-I… um…”

You felt your cheeks redden as you inwardly cursed yourself for being unable to find your words. You inhaled deeply, your gaze dropping to the countertop for a moment as you forced your mind to work overtime in order to find the correct words to speak to your artistic idol. Your embarrassment seemed to amuse the man, seeing as a quiet chuckle passed his lips whilst he continued to watch you struggle to find your words.

“Allow me to help you, _mia amica._ My name is Stefano Valentini—however, you already know this, don’t you? After all, you were ever so kind in that column you wrote about my artwork.”

As if you weren’t embarrassed enough already, you now wanted to bury your head in the sand if you could—he must have recognized you from the self-portrait the paper had used alongside your column. He had read your article; Stefano Valentini had read your article. You glanced over at Vincent, who had placed both your drink and Stefano’s upon the counter, and you eagerly wrapped your fingers around the glass. You brought it to your lips, tilting your head back to take a rather large swig from it—it was the only thing you could think of doing at the moment… at least until you found your still missing words. Yet another chuckle resounded from within Stefano’s throat, and he took a small sip from his glass. Finally, your mind managed to find a few words to spew out, much to your relief.

“You read that, huh? I… must admit I’m a bit embarrassed about it. Quite frankly, I wasn’t sure if you’d ever see it. Honestly, I’m still wondering if I’m just hallucinating—I never expected to meet _the_ Stefano Valentini at a bar of all places.”

“Did you expect to meet me at an art gallery, perhaps? Certain people seem to be under the impression that artists, like myself, only reside within museums or galleries.”

You caught a slight hint of bitterness within his tone of voice, and you immediately felt as though you had caused it yourself. Your mind began beating itself up, and you shoved your glass against your lips once more as you downed what remained within it. You finally had your chance to talk to the man you looked up to for years, and here you were making him upset within the first three minutes of speaking to him. How lovely.

“No, no… I didn’t mean anything like that. If people really think artists never leave museums or galleries, they should rethink such an idea. You’re a person, just like everyone else here.”

This earned a soft hum from him, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks grow a bit hotter—you knew you weren’t quite tipsy yet, so it was most likely the embarrassment talking through your flesh at this point. You sighed deeply before turning your attention to Vincent, who was now making what looked like an Aunt Roberta, and it was honestly quite enticing—perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have just _one more_ drink.

“Vincent, would you mind making one of those for me, too?”

“( ** _Name_** )… are you sure that’s what you want? You’ve already had two relatively strong drinks. You know the reputation of this cocktail, right?”

“I know, I know… but that Aunt Roberta looks really good.”

Vincent shot you a worried glance, but gave a reluctant nod of his head—after all, this was his job. He couldn’t refuse to serve you. Besides, you weren’t noticeably intoxicated, so he had no legal grounds to refuse. He might end up regretting this, but he would take the heat if he absolutely had to.

You sighed softly as you brought your cheek to rest upon the palm of your hand once more, and then turned your attention back to the artist sitting beside you. He was sipping at his drink once more, and eventually caught your gaze.

“I apologize if what I said a few minutes ago upset you. I didn’t mean to tweak a nerve or anything.”

“No need to apologize—I wasn’t expressing animosity towards you, if that’s what you thought, _mia cara.”_

You felt a small smile creep across your lips as you listened to the man speak. His voice was soft like velvet, and it was soothing to listen to; not to mention his usage of Italian within his English, which was something that you found rather interesting. You watched as he took yet another sip from his glass, and then set it down gently upon the countertop.

“You know, I’ve been eager to meet you ever since I happened upon your column. I’d like to express my thanks for being the first critic to positively praise my work. After years of nothing but negative criticism from both critics and the general people, it was a welcomed relief.”

“That’s part of the reason I became an art critic, believe it or not. I’ve followed your artwork for several years— ever since you published the war photo that caused so much controversy back in 2010. You took that during the Iraq War, right?”

“You’re quite insightful. That photo was indeed taken during the Iraq War, when I was twenty-five years old. It is by far my most meaningful piece to date, and nothing will ever surpass it in my heart.”

You turned your attention away from the artist only for a moment as Vincent placed your last drink down in front of you, and you situated yourself so that you could absentmindedly stir it whilst continuing to speak to the man beside you. Stefano took this moment to finish off the liquid that was left within his glass, and you noticed that a thoughtful look appeared upon his face. What on earth could be going on in that imaginative mind of his?

“You know, I believe I know a proper way to express my thanks—would you care to see my next piece?”

If it were possible, you would have sworn your heart stopped beating for a solid minute after hearing Stefano’s words. He was offering to show you his newest piece of artwork before anyone else got to see it. How on earth could you ever say no? You gave an eager nod of your head, the smile upon your lips growing as you turned your body entirely upon the stool to face him. Your excitement made the photographer give a slight smile of his own, and he reached into the pocket of his suit to pull something from within—upon further inspection, it was a small, square photograph that held his newest piece of artwork within it. He held it out to you, and with a gentle hand, you carefully took it and began to inspect it.

Within the photograph was a close-up shot of a forearm and hand, which obviously belonged to that of a woman. Crimson blood formed lighting-like streaks across her pale skin, and several thin vines were wrapped around her wrist—within the digits of the woman’s hand was clasped a beautiful rose, from which large droplets of blood were captured falling from the petals. Within the dark background you could see several red petals, which you assumed were either more rose petals or perhaps blossoms of some sort, drifting through the air. Though it certainly was dark and macabre, it was absolutely stunning to look at; the composition was perfect, and the clear focus on the arm combined with the gentle blur of the background made it stand out even more to your eyes. The colors were beautiful as well, the crimson of the rose and blood contrasting well with the pale skin the woman possessed.

“Beautiful, is it not? Such wonderous elegance captured in a single photograph...”

You could only give a nod of your head, your ( ** _color_** ) eyes still staring in wonder at the marvelous photograph you held between your fingers. How on earth this man managed to take such mesmerizing pictures of implications of death was unknown to you, but it was incredibly pleasing to your eyes. Though you would never admit such a thing vocally out of respect for Stefano, this certainly was one of his best works yet. How he made such realistic details was something that you hoped to uncover someday, but for now, all you could do was bring yourself to compliment his photographic skills.

“It really is beautiful, Mr. Valentini. I truly don’t understand how people can’t see the beauty of your artwork. The lighting, the composition, and just… everything about this photograph truly is stunning.”

You gave the man a smile, and it was quite obvious you had stroked his ego with your compliments. He had a rather boastful smirk upon his lips, and his fingers messed with the scarf around his neck. However, you couldn’t blame him for this response—after all, this was, quite literally, the first time his work had ever received such praise from someone in person. You held out the photograph in front of you, which earned you a rather quizzical look from the artist.

“No, no. I’ll allow you to keep this for yourself, _mia amica_. My only request is that you share it with no one—at least until its official debut, of course.”

“Of course! I won’t show a soul. Perhaps I can ask what title you’re going to give this particular piece, though?”

“Ah, what is a piece of perfection without an equally perfect title, hmm? However, I won’t reveal this to you quite yet. Perhaps if you were to attend my second solo show at the Krimson City Gallery, you would be able to see such a thing for yourself.”

You cocked your eyebrow; had he just personally invited you to his solo show? You finally got around to picking up your glass and taking a sip of your cocktail, an immediate shiver zipping down your spine as the alcohol entered your body; there was a reason it was considered one of the most highly alcoholic drinks in the world, and you loved it. You placed the glass back down, a tiny laugh escaping your lips as you did so—the alcohol was finally beginning to settle within your bloodstream, and it was beginning to show.

“I-I would love to come to your solo show, Mr. Valentini. I was planning on going either way, but now I have an even bigger incentive to attend.”

“ _Meraviglioso_! I look forward to your attendance. It will be nice to see an experienced, accepting critic amongst a crowd of artist-damning neophytes.”

Your lips curled into a smile at his words, and you took yet another sip of your cocktail. Another rush surged through your body, and you hummed softly as the alcoholic heat embraced your cheeks. You figured it wouldn’t be wise to finish off the entire cocktail, since you were already beginning to feel quite a bit over-the-edge, and you managed to push away the glass with the conscience you had left. You looked down at your watch again, seeing the time was now a quarter until one, and you groaned softly—it was no wonder the alcohol was getting to you now. You took out your wallet from within your bag, grabbing two twenty-dollar bills from within it and folding them in half—you then slid it across the bar, allowing Vincent to take it from you.

“That should cover everything, right? Plus a tip for you.”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, you’re good. You gonna head home now, ( ** _Name_** )?”

“Mhm… I need to get some rest.”

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes for a moment as you situated your bag upon your shoulder. You then opened them, looking over at the man still sitting beside you. You held out your hand, which was trembling slightly now, a smile upon your lips as you did so.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Valentini. It truly was quite an experience.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Ms. ( ** _Last Name_** ). Again, I look forward to your attendance at my solo show.”

You felt him give your hand a firm shake, and you felt your heart leap within your chest; you had shaken hands with your artistic idol, and you couldn’t feel more joy if you possibly tried. Once you had carefully slid the photograph he had given you within your bag, making sure that it wouldn’t get bent or crinkled in any way, you slid off the stool and gripped the counter so that you wouldn’t lose your balance and topple forward. You most certainly weren’t to the point of stumbling around in a drunken stupor, but your balance was definitely not at its peak at the moment.

As Vincent watched you walk to the front door, he sighed deeply as he took out his rag and ran it across the countertop. He then turned his gaze to the raven-haired man, who was in the middle of pulling out a bill to pay for his drink.

“Hey, would you mind doing me a favor? This might sound odd coming from a bartender, but would you mind walking that girl home? She doesn’t live too far from here, but with everything going on lately with all the abductions, I don’t want her walking home alone. Not to mention she isn’t in the best state right now. I’d go with her myself, but I can’t leave the bar until it closes at three. I wouldn’t mind paying for your tab if you do this favor for me.”

Stefano cocked his eyebrow at the boy’s words, but gave a gentle sigh as he placed the bill back into the breast pocket of his suit. He then dropped down from the stool, his electric-blue eye gazing at the bartender who was still wiping down the counter.

“I suppose I could accept such a task. After all, you’re quite right—the streets are rather dangerous right now. Where does she live?”

“She lives two streets down from here, on Elmwood. You know the Oakridge apartments, right? She stays in room 403.”

With a nod of his head, Stefano made his way across the bar and pressed his gloved hand against the door to open it; a chill ran through his body as the cold night air hit his skin, and a smile crossed his lips as he paced out into the darkness. It would seem the masses were still oblivious to who he truly was.

=2=

“ _Signorina_!”

You stopped for a moment, your body turning so that you could see who was calling out your name. However, there was only person you were acquainted with who spoke Italian, so it came as no surprise to you whenever you saw Stefano pacing towards you. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your lips when he finally came to a halt by your side, and you shifted your shoulder so that your bag sat more comfortably upon it.

“I have been asked to escort you home. Surely you wouldn’t have any quarrels with this?”

“O-oh… Vincent must have asked you to do this, huh? I wouldn’t want to be a bother, Mr. Valentini…”

“ _Per favore_ , call me Stefano. Walking you to your home would be a pleasure—besides, the streets are rather unwelcoming at this time of night.”

You gave a nod of your head, happily accepting the company on the walk back to your apartment. Along the way, the two of you made small talk about how much you enjoyed seeing everything that he produced, and how your favorite photograph to date (aside from the one he had shown you that particular evening) was the one he had titled “Afterglow.” He went on to explain that photograph was one that he was fond of, and that he had displayed within his own home in the confines of his study. You noticed that the man was incredibly pleased with everything he produced, and found no faults in any photograph that he had taken previously—and you also noticed that he seemed jubilant to finally have someone to speak about his artwork with, and that was something that you were more than happy to continue to provide. You could honestly go on for years about how dearly you loved his work if you were ever given the chance.

Eventually, the two of you were climbing the long stairwell that led to the fourth floor of your apartment building. You were gripping the railing to steady yourself, since you really didn’t want to trip or stumble and make a fool of yourself in front of the man you looked up to as an artist. You had visions in your head of you stumbling directly into him, which made you grip the railing harder—that was most certainly the last thing you wanted to happen; the embarrassment would surely kill you. Thankfully you made it to your door without much trouble, and you sighed softly as you leaned your shoulder against the wood to dig through your bag for your keycard.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Val- I mean, Stefano. It was very kind of you to walk me back to my apartment. I… I really enjoyed the evening.”

“As did I. Speaking of my work and meeting the one critic who praised it was a welcome change. Again, you have my thanks.”

You watched as the man pressed his gloved hand to his chest, then stooped down at his waist to give you a gentlemanly bow. You gave him a tired smile, then tugged your keycard out from within your bag; you slid it through the reader, and the sound of the door unlocking reached your ears. You turned the knob, opening the door a bit in preparation to go inside, and then gave one final look in Stefano’s direction.

“Have a good rest of the night, Stefano. I’ll see you again at the solo show.”

“Indeed, _mia cara_. I await that day.”

With that, the man turned on his heel and began to make his way back down the stairs towards the ground level. You hummed softly to yourself before walking into your apartment and tossing your keycard onto the table that rested right beside the entry door—it felt good to be home again after such a wonderful evening. You glanced over at the wall-phone, seeing the red light blinking rhythmically to alert you that you had unheard messages; you already knew what type of messages these were, so you chose to ignore them entirely as you passed by the phone on route to your bedroom. You weren’t about to soil such a splendid night with more negativity, so you simply made your way into your bedroom and flopped down upon your plush blanket. Your heart was aflutter, and your head felt as light as a feather. You weren’t entirely sure if it was an effect of the alcohol, or, the more plausible option, which was meeting your biggest inspiration and spending a rather relaxing evening with him.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of flowery detergent filling your nose as you pressed your head further into your pillow. You weren’t going to bother changing into something other than your current attire, mostly due to how tired you were and how eager you were to get to sleep. You reached into your pocket, taking out your phone and plugging it into the charger. The light illuminated your dark room, and at the top of the screen, you could see the little icon that informed you that you had emails waiting to be read; again, it was another reminder of the current negativity you were facing, and you simply closed your eyes and pretended they didn’t exist. They weren’t going to get to you tonight. You stayed still upon your bed, allowing the darkness and silence of the room to take you in—the sounds of the city outside your window brought you a certain kind of comfort, and soon enough, helped lead you into a decent sleep.

=2=

“You obtained your first compliment tonight… I promised you that you would be loved when I photographed you, even if it was by only one person. And I have upheld that promise.”

Stefano placed his camera down upon the desk, a soft hum now passing his lips as he paced over to the record player within his study. He moved the tone arm over the record, gently pressing the stylus down upon it so that beautiful music began to flow forth from it. He exhaled deeply, once more strolling over to the desk where his beloved camera now sat. He hummed along to the tune of Serenade for Strings, which was still emanating from the record player, and eventually came to rest his gaze upon the now-framed piece of artwork that hung above his desk between the other photographs that had been there. It was a much larger image than the one he had given to you earlier that evening, and was the one that he planned on showcasing at his upcoming solo show later in the month.

“Such wonderous beauty… it’s a shame I haven’t had a name for you until now, but I have had a new bout of inspiration flood my mind after some events that took place this evening. I now have the perfect name for you… a perfect name for a perfect work of art.”

The artist stopped, his fingers dipping into the pocket of his suit in order to remove a small, golden plaque from within. He brought it upwards and held it out in front of him—it was positioned in such a way that it provided a preview of what it would look like when placed underneath the frame of the photograph, and a smile spread across the artist’s lips as he read over the two words that were written upon the plaque itself.

“She displayed such innocence tonight… and gave me the gift of pleasure that I have not known in many years. She gave me the gift of jubilation—something I have not felt for quite a long time. For that, _mia cara_ , you were the inspiration for the name I was unable to speak to you.”

Written upon the plaque, carefully engraved into the metal by the artist himself, were the two words “ _Innocent Gift_.”

=2=

Author’s Note (1): First and foremost, I know nothing about the Italian language. If words aren’t correct, and/or in the improper order, I swear it wasn’t intentional.

Author’s Note (2): A quick list of translations here for your convenience:

  * Mia cara: my dear/my darling
  * Mia amica: my friend
  * Buon uomo: good sir/good man
  * Meraviglioso: wonderful



Author’s Note (3): I am inexperienced with alcohol consumption, and spent (quite literally) hours researching various drinks/alcohol content and the various effects it has on people. That being said, each person is unique in the amount of alcohol they can handle, so Reader is a generalization of everyone. Not too much, and not too little. Also, I attempted to take into account how much alcohol is within each drink she ordered, and the amount of time she spent at the bar when writing her overall state of mind when she leaves the building.

Author’s Note (4): Just so no one is confused, my personal timeline for Stefano is as follows—in 2003, when Stefano was 18, he went overseas to photograph incidents of the Iraq War. He stayed for several years, until, in 2010, he took the photograph that cost him his right eye. He was sent home, and after successful rehabilitation, went on to begin his artistic career in all things dark and macabre. Since there are only so many dates to go by within documents in the games, I’m piecing together whatever I can using deep analysis.


	2. Beauty of Anger

 

**Current Time** _: November 27 th, 2015_

=2=

A low groan passed your lips as the sound of your alarm rung within your ears, and you curled your fingers into your pillow as you buried your head beneath it. As much as you prayed for the incessant noise to cease, you eventually gave a defeated sigh and reached your right arm over, your digits dancing across the bedside table in search of the whining phone. Eventually you felt the smooth screen beneath your fingertips, and you hastily dragged it towards you—you poked your head out from underneath the pillow for only a moment so you could swipe your thumb properly across the screen and mute the alarm, and then hummed in relief once silence filled your apartment again. You allowed your eyes to flutter shut once more, eagerly embracing the sleep that was attempting to claim you as its own… but wait, what time had you seen upon the screen of your phone? Your heart suddenly surged as adrenaline rushed through your veins, and you scrambled to sit up as you gripped your phone within your hands. 5:30 P.M. You had set your alarm for the wrong time. Shit.

You shot out of bed, flinging your phone behind you onto the messy sheets as you made a mad dash for the bathroom; you had overslept, and you had less than an hour before you were supposed to arrive at the Krimson City Gallery. You tore your shirt off over the top of your head, tossing it into some random corner of the bathroom, and then nearly tripped as you tugged off your pants. Thank God you had taken a shower that morning—one less thing to worry about. You hastily shoved the plug of your iron into the outlet on the wall, pressing the button on the side so that it would be fully heated whenever you came back to it. You rushed into your closet, hurriedly flipping through several outfits; what on earth were you going to wear? Perhaps a dress? No, you didn’t want to seem too formal. But, then again, what _was_ too formal for an event like this? God, now you were regretting taking that afternoon nap.

You decided that a pair of black slacks and a blood-red, fitted, button-up shirt would be best for the occasion—it was simple, but you figured it would go over well with the mood of the solo show you were attending. You slipped each of your arms into the proper holes of the shirt, your fingers fumbling over themselves as you attempted to button it as quickly as possible. You sighed in annoyance as you realized you had accidentally skipped over a hole, and the entire shirt was now uneven as the left side dangled lower than its sister side. You mumbled some profanity to yourself as you slipped each button back out of their corresponding holes, then made sure to get the pattern right this time around. Once such a task was complete, you slid one leg into the black slacks you had gripped within your fingers, tugging them upwards as you hobbled out of your closet towards your mirror—your ( ** _color_** ) eyes glanced up into the glass as you buttoned your pants, making absolutely certain that the zipper wasn’t undone. The last thing you wanted was to make a fool of yourself in front of not only the other critics, whom already considered you a thorn in their sides, but in front of Stefano himself.

You brushed your fingers underneath your collar to even it out, making sure that you were as decent as possible before grabbing the bottom of your now-heated iron. You began to run it along various bits of your hair, making your way around the entirety of your head until you were satisfied with the results. You glanced over at the analog clock that sat in the corner of your sink, and saw that it was now 5:53—you had thirty-seven minutes before the show officially began, and a soft groan left your lips as you wrapped your fingers around your perfume bottle. You pressed down upon the top, several spritzes of the liquid lightly coating your upper body in your favorite scent. You yanked the cord of your iron, which tugged the plug out from within the socket of the wall, and then placed it upon the countertop so it could cool down whilst you were out of the apartment.

You hurriedly made your way into your bedroom, grabbing a pair of flesh-colored socks from within your drawer before plopping down upon the edge of your bed to tug them onto your feet. The nylon was soft and flexible, and near unnoticeable if you didn’t stare too hard at it, which you doubted that anyone would do tonight. Finally, you grabbed a pair of black dress shoes, which you slipped onto your feet.

As much as you wished you could prepare yourself a bit more, you knew that you absolutely had to get going. You dug around in your disheveled sheets for your phone, which you shoved into your pocket upon finding it, and then made your way out into the living room of your apartment. You grabbed your notebook and pen, placing them into your bag before slinging the strap over your shoulder—though you were attending the show for personal reasons, you also had to remember that you had a job to do, and writing down notes for your upcoming critique would be in both you and Stefano’s best interest. You made sure to grab your keycard from the table beside the entrance to your apartment, and you gave a small smile as you saw the now-framed photograph that Stefano had given you nearly a week ago sitting upon the very same table. Tonight, you’d be able to see the real thing for yourself.

=2=

“Thank you so much, sir!”

You handed several bills to your taxi driver, then turned on your heel to begin heading up the set of cement steps that led into the Krimson Gallery. You slid up your sleeve to take a look at your watch, and you sighed deeply as you saw the time: 6:17 P.M. You had made it on time, and with several minutes to spare, which was honestly quite a surprise to you. As you paced your way up the steps, you noticed several familiar faces that were making their way towards the front entrance—there was James King, who was a well-renowned critic of the arts, Amy McGee, who had produced several columns about Stefano’s art within the Krimson Post over the past few years, and, much to your dismay, Susan Phi, who shot you a rather dirty look upon noticing you. You quickly averted your gaze from her, forcing yourself to pick up the pace to get away from these people; you knew you weren’t on the best of terms with them, and you weren’t looking for any problems right now.

Upon first entering the gallery, you noticed that the lights had been dimmed—instead of their normal whitish-gold glow, they all emitted a faint, crimson hue that covered the entirety of the building. The walls had been covered in Stefano’s photographs, and you couldn’t help the small smile that came to your lips upon seeing them. You wandered over to one of the more barren areas of the gallery, hoping that it stayed that way so you could examine the photographs in peace, and began to take in the various framed pictures that hung perfectly upon the walls. The first, which was titled “ _Vision_ ,” was a close-up shot of what appeared to be a male eye. Several lines of crimson blood streaked across his skin, coagulated bits covering various parts of his eyelashes. It was quite a simple photograph, but like his other work, it told a story that only Stefano knew.

The next image that caught your attention was one of three individual hands; each one was reaching for the object within the center of the photograph, which was nothing more than a mere apple. Within the background, you noticed several small piles of rose petals, and a few dark pools of what appeared to be blood. You hummed softly to yourself in thought, your ( ** _color_** ) eyes falling down to the golden plaque that rested beneath the frame. The title of this image was “ _Fruits of Our Labor_.”

It was then that you suddenly remembered that you had brought your notebook with you, and you began to rummage around within your bag to locate it. Once you managed to find it, you tugged it out and opened to a blank page, clicking your pen to life before you began to scrawl down some messy notes for later.

  1. _Valentini makes simplistic imagery appear incredibly detailed, and each one tells a unique story._
  2. _Valentini composes unique and fitting titles for each piece of work he produces._
  3. _Valentini uses dark colors and visions of gore to portray_ -



“Well, well. I’m glad my artwork makes you feel that way.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you felt hot breath hit the side of your neck, and you almost dropped both your pen and your notebook as you fumbled to keep them steady within your grasp. Once you had successfully managed to keep your belongings clutched against your chest, you turned your head to see none other than Stefano, who was wearing a rather mischievous smile upon his lips. You gave a quick exhale, allowing your heart to stop stampeding within the confines of your chest, and then closed your notebook before placing it back into your bag. So much for writing down some notes—for now, at least.

“God, you scared me. It’s not nice to read over people’s shoulders, you know…”

“Oh, but _signorina_ … I simply must know what you think of my beautiful work. After all, you are one of the very few who finds beauty in them as I do.”

As he finished speaking, the artist brought his right hand out from behind his back, his thumb and forefinger gripping onto the stem of a champagne glass that he was currently offering you. You cocked your head a bit upon seeing it, but welcomingly accepted his gift by gently taking the glass from his grasp; you brought the rim to your mouth, allowing the bubbling liquid to seep past your lips and into your maw. You gave a hum of approval at the taste of it, which seemed to please the artist standing before you; you then turned to look at the various pictures upon the walls, a smile on your lips as began to speak.

“Well, if you must know what I think of your photography, I adore it. You have a way of making even the simplest of pictures catch my eye, and that’s something that I believe is a needed quality for a photographer and artist to have. Also, don’t get me started on the lighting and posing that you use—I can’t begin to express how perfect each setting is.”

“Please, you flatter me. I simply can’t wait to reveal my two latest works to you. You’ve seen one of them, of course, but there is one that you have yet to see.”

You felt your heart flutter within your chest—Stefano had created another work of art that you hadn’t seen yet? Oh, what a wonderful turn of events! Surely the quality of it would be just as good as the one within your apartment, or, knowing Stefano, even better. You watched as he diverted his gaze to an area across the gallery, where two covered photographs sat upon the wall—you assumed these were the photos he was speaking of, and your curiosity was piqued already.

“Would you perhaps give me the time, _signorina_?”

You gave a nod of your head as you shifted your sleeve so that your watch was visible to you, and you held out your wrist for the artist to see: 6:37 P.M. He exhaled a soft breath, then folded his arms across his chest as a thoughtful look crossed his face.

“I suppose I shall wait a while before unveiling my masterpieces. For the meantime, enjoy yourself, Ms. ( ** _Last Name_** ). And please, by all means, continue taking those notes of yours.”

You saw the corners of his lips curl into a teasing smile, and you couldn’t help the redness that rushed across your cheeks; thank God the gallery was currently tinted crimson, otherwise your embarrassment might have been even greater. Stefano turned on his heel and paced off into the crowd of critics and guests, and you brought your glass to your lips to take another sip of your champagne. That man was certainly something else.

=2=

As the night progressed, you had managed to make your way around the rest of the gallery, your notebook now filled with various notes about each piece of art you came across. At this point, you were already beginning to piece together the next article you would write on Stefano’s artwork within your head, and making sure to write down any ideas that you had so you didn’t happen to forget them later. Currently, you were jotting down some notes about Stefano as a person rather than an artist, and how he incorporated his personality into his artwork; the night the two of you had spent together at the bar was coming in handy, since you had gotten to experience what he was like outside of his artistic career.

You stopped writing your current note as you noticed the crimson light encasing the room dim down to almost darkness, and you turned your attention to the only lit area of the gallery—the two photographs hidden beneath their red curtains. Your heart began to pound with excitement; Stefano must have been ready to finally show off his two new pieces of artwork! You slithered your way through the crowd that was beginning to form in front of the wall until you managed to reach the front, your gaze falling upon a confident Stefano who was standing alongside his creations.

“Ladies and gentleman, as the end of our time together draws to a close, I would like to have the pleasure of revealing two of my newest creations to your eager eyes.”

His fingers curled into the fabric of the first red curtain, and with one swift motion, he tugged it from the frame and allowed it to drift onto a pile upon the wooden floor. Your eyes befell the same image you had seen the night you had met Stefano, and you were immediately drawn to the golden plaque that rested beneath it: _Innocent Gift_. So that was the name that he had hidden from you that night—it was surprisingly fitting, and you made sure to make a note of that within your journal. However, as you were scrawling down your notes, you heard the crowd around you begin to whisper things that you couldn’t quite catch. However, you had a gut feeling that they weren’t singing Stefano’s praises.

“And for my final revealing of the night, I give to you my most recent creation: my beautiful _Afterglow_.”

The artist tugged the final curtain from its resting place, the image that hid beneath finally being revealed to your anxiously-awaiting eyes. Much like his previous photograph, this one centered around a single hand; the hand itself was almost white in color, dark streaks and splotches of crimson splattered across the skin. It was resting upon what looked to be a wooden table, where a single, red rose teetered upon the edge across from the ever-reaching hand. Several petals were scattered about the wood, and the dark colors surrounding the edges of the photograph made the illuminated center draw even more attention. Though it was incredibly dark in theme, it was still a beautiful work of art. The whispers about you grew in volume, and as you went to write down some notes for his newest creation, you heard a man clear his throat—this silenced the crowd around you, and brought your attention upon him. It was James King, the middle-aged critic with greying facial hair and a slightly-balding scalp.

“Mr. Valentini… for the second time now, you have revealed your inner ideologies of what you assume to be beauty to the populous of Krimson City, and I believe I speak for all in attendance when I ask: why? What on earth could possibly possess you to believe that photography of depictions of death and gore are a form of art, much less beauty?”

You felt your brows furrow, and your chest tightened as a sense of irritation began to grow within you—these people weren’t here to observe Stefano’s art; they were here to make a mockery of him. You glanced from King to Stefano, who had a look of confusion upon his features, but it soon reverted back to its normal calm and collected expression. He parted his lips to offer a response to the man whom had addressed him, but immediately halted himself as King began to speak once more.

“Do you know why we all attended this show tonight, Mr. Valentini? It wasn’t for the mere interest of art, because we certainly see none of that here. No… we attended this show to see how much more of a fool you intend to mold yourself into.”

“Excuse me?”

It took a moment for the crowd to realize that the loud outburst hadn’t come from Stefano, but rather from you. You gripped your journal tightly within your hand, and you were thankful that you had placed your champagne glass down long ago—had you not, you would have undoubtedly broken it with the rage-fueled grip you now had upon your journal. You knew that all eyes were now upon you, and you forced yourself to ignore them as you stared directly at King, who had a rather amused look upon his face.

“First of all, how dare you—how dare you come into this building with no other goal than to make a fool out of Mr. Valentini. You are one of Krimson City’s most renowned critics, and might I say you’re acting pretty poorly for such a position. In fact, all of you have been! I will no longer hide behind the words of my columns; you all need to realize how horribly out of line you’ve been acting.”

You stepped forward, making a gesture towards the two photographs upon the wall. You noticed that the crowd in front of you had appalled looks upon their faces, as though someone had insulted their entire family lineage, and you didn’t care one bit. In fact, you were glad. King now had a scowl upon his lips, and you returned it with one of your own as you continued to speak.

“You are taking everything that Mr. Valentini produces at face-value. In all honesty, you’re acting like a bunch of spoiled, selfish children that were sheltered from the fact that blood, gore, and warfare actually exist. Ever since he began his career after coming back from the war, you’ve all done nothing but try and drive his career into the ground.”

You had years of emotion pouring out of you now, and the silence within the gallery was deafening. The stares you were getting were radiating malice, but again, you could care less about that. These people who dared call themselves critics were acting like children, and if you weren’t the one who spoke out about it, you doubted anyone else ever would. Stepping away from Stefano’s photography, you made your way in front of King, until you were only a few inches away from him—you met his scowl with your own, and you opened your mouth to speak again.

“Need I read some of the things you’ve sent me, hmm? For merely stating my opinion, which, by the way, as a critic, you need to be able to handle, I was basically crucified by every person in this very room for a week straight. Emails, phone calls… I got each and every one of them. I read every vulgar word, heard every revolting message, and let me tell you… it proved my point even further. As critics, we analyze, explain, and offer constructive advice, if necessary. We _do not_ make a living off driving aspiring artists into the ground, and belittling them for their unique visions—all of which you’ve been doing to Mr. Valentini for years.”

You stared into the narrowed eyes of King, who said nothing in response to your elongated outburst. If you were honest, he had a face that was begging to be punched, but you weren’t going to take things that far out of respect for yourself and the artist that you were defending. You forced yourself to move away from the critic before your mind got the better of you, and then took a quick glance down at your watch: 9:32 P.M. A sarcastic smile grew upon your lips, and you stooped down at your waist to give an over-exaggerated bow that ended with you gesturing towards the front doors.

“Oh, and look at that… the exhibit is now over. I’d suggest all of you leave, since you all have nothing of value to offer here.”

You could feel your temples pulsating lightly as you stared at the appalled audience in front of you, and you had to admit that you were rather relieved when you noticed several of them take their leave towards the entrance of the gallery. As much as you were proud of yourself for finally taking a stand against these people, you had the lingering feeling of wanting to be sick—you were filled with the anxiety of what repercussions this outburst might cause, and the longer you stared at the crowd, which was slowly filtering towards the entrance, the more prominent this feeling became. Eventually, every person aside from James King had left the building, and he stepped forward until he was hovering over you with almost malicious intent.

“You are strangely admirable, ( ** _Last Name_** ). But, don’t think for one moment this will simply blow over. My reach is far—my influence equally so. You’ll soon realize your place within this community isn’t where you believe it to be.”

With that, the man’s lips curled into a small smile, and he stepped off towards the entrance of the building. You remained still for some time, frozen almost, and then felt your stomach lurch; you had to use every ounce of willpower you possessed to avoid becoming sick, and you brought your free hand over your mouth whilst you steadied yourself both physically and mentally. Unfortunately, you were forced to sit down against the wall due to the light feeling that overtook your head—though you had done your best to defend Stefano, you now felt as though you looked like a fool for reacting like this. What was going to happen to you? King was right; if he wanted to, he could bring down your chance at becoming a successful critic.

“Your words resonate such dedication and devotion, _mia cara_. Such vocal defense is something I have never had the pleasure of experiencing until now.”

You avoided looking up at Stefano, whom had remained silent until only now. Your anxiety-riddled body wouldn’t allow for it, and you could feel your hands physically shaking now as you continued attempting to calm yourself. Out of your peripheral vision, you noticed that Stefano had dropped to one knee beside you, and was now holding something out in your direction—you glanced over, seeing your journal clasped within his fingers. Had you dropped your journal? Your mind was in such a sorry state that you couldn’t remember if you had, let alone when. You stared at it for only a moment, and then reached out a shaky hand and took it from his grasp.

“T-thank you…”

You finally managed to dribble out those two words, and a quiet sigh passed through Stefano’s lips. His gaze was drawn towards the front entrance of the gallery, where several of the critics still lingered—talking down about his defender, no doubt. Such imbeciles. He then rose to his feet, flicking a switch upon the wall to illuminate the room in a better light—once that was done, he extended his gloved hand down in your direction, offering to help you to your feet.

You looked up at him, unsure of whether or not you wished to try standing, but took his hand nevertheless and slowly helped yourself to your feet. It was silent for a while, but you eventually turned your attention back to the two photographs upon the wall.

“I… I really do like them, Stefano. I just don’t see how everyone else doesn’t.”

“It is as you said, _mia cara_. They shelter themselves within a bubble of blissful ignorance, refusing to acknowledge the darker side of the world around them.”

You gave a quiet hum in response, your gaze still drawn to the photographs in front of you. They were dark, and they were gory, but they were beautiful nonetheless. You looked down at the journal you held within your hand, then undid the clasp upon the front and opened it to reveal the notes you had taken that night. Your eyes wandered over your writing, and you furrowed your brows—you weren’t about to let what King had said stop you. You were going to write a damn good column about this solo show, and you were going to praise Stefano’s work; even if it meant enduring the malice and lashes the other critics threw at you.

“( ** _Name_** ), might I offer to return you to your home this evening? It is the very least I can do for such bravery in defending my name.”

You glanced over at Stefano, who had a soft smile upon his lips—such a smile was something that brought comfort to you, and you exhaled deeply before offering a smile of your own. How could you turn down such an offer?

“I wouldn’t mind that at all, Stefano. I appreciate it.”

=2=

Whilst in the company of Stefano, the trip up the long flight of stairs that led to your apartment was a lot less lonely than it typically was. Though the talk between the two of you was small, it was still incredibly comforting—especially after the events that had taken place earlier in the evening. Whenever you finally reached the top of the stairs, you shrugged your bag off of your shoulder and began to rummage around inside it in an attempt to find your keycard; thankfully you found it rather quickly, and you swiped it through the reader before opening the door to your apartment.

“Stefano, perhaps you’d like to come inside? Only if you’re not in a hurry, of course.”

“Hmm? Ah, no, _mia cara_ , I am in no form of hurry. It would be my pleasure to accompany you inside.”

You nodded your head as you proceeded through your door, holding it open for a moment whilst Stefano made his way through the entrance. Once he was inside, you shut the door and listened to the automatic lock whir into place, and you saw that he had already taken interest in the framed photograph that rested upon the table near the entryway. You could tell he had a pleased smile upon his lips, and he bent over slightly to get a better look of it.

“I see you framed the photograph, hmm?”

“Oh, yes. I couldn’t let such a nice picture go without a frame, after all. It deserves to be shown off!”

He hummed pleasantly in response to your words, then brought himself to stand upright again as he began to look over the rest of your apartment. It was rather sizeable, with an equally sizeable kitchen area connected to the living room. There was a mid-sized television sitting upon an entertainment center near the wall in the living area, with a couch and adjacent loveseat sitting several feet in front of it. Between the two objects sat a table, furnished with a large candle in the center, and several decorative coasters that sat on either side of it. Near the back of the living room was a small hallway that led to a closed door—one which he assumed led into your personal bedroom.

“Please, feel free to make yourself at home for the time being, Stefano. Would you like some wine?”

Stefano turned his attention away from his surroundings and onto you, and gave a small nod of his head.

“Wine would be wonderful, ( ** _Name_** ).”

Now having an answer, you walked into your kitchen and opened one of the cupboard doors, which housed a small wine holder—you hummed to yourself as you contemplated which one to partake in, and you figured that Stefano would appreciate the bottle of Bricco Pernice you had within your home. You carefully tugged it from its resting place, then grabbed two wine glasses from within your glass cabinet; after you had removed the seal and the cork, you poured each glass about a third of the way full, and then began walking over to the living room, where Stefano had taken a seat upon the couch. You held out his glass, which he promptly took from you, and then sat down upon the loveseat and crossed your legs—a sigh of relief left your lips as you relaxed against the plush fabric, something that you were eager to do tonight. Your gaze fell upon Stefano, who had brought the glass to his lips to partake in his wine; after taking a sip, you saw him cock his eyebrow, and he glanced over at you.

“Bricco Pernice?”

“I see you know your wine!”

“But of course. I was born in Italy, after all.”

You gave him a small smile, then brought your glass to your lips to take a sip of your wine. Though it was quiet within your apartment, the sounds of the bustling city beneath you formed a light ambience that was oddly calming. You swirled the crimson liquid around gently within your glass, becoming slightly entranced by it as you began to speak.

“I was born here, in Krimson City. My mother was sixteen—I say was, because she died shortly after giving birth to me. My father, otherwise known as the playboy of the school my mother attended, was nowhere to be found when I was born. I ended up going to an adoption home, where I lived until I was two; I was then adopted by an elderly couple, whom I loved dearly. They’re… they’re both gone now, but I ended up making a life for myself because of them.”

Stefano kept his gaze upon you as you spoke, a quiet sigh passing his lips. Hearing you speak of your family brought memories of his own back into his mind—his mother, whom had since passed, working two jobs in order to keep him fed, the nights he spent working in the fields just to help his mother obtain some form of decent income, the day she wished him well when he went off to photograph the horrors of war, and the letter he received informing him of his mother’s passing. His father, the goddamn bastard who left his mother shortly after hearing that she was pregnant to run off with another whore of his, he never cared to know. In that sense, he supposed he could relate to you. He decided against revealing his past to you, however, and instead turned his attention to a record player that sat in the back corner of the room.

“You possess a record player? It’s rather rare to find one of those in this day and age.”

“O-oh! Yeah! It was a gift from my parents. I uh… grew up listening to Dean Martin, and have almost all his records.”

You rose to your feet, walking over to the record player and tugging out one of your favorite records; you then carefully opened the top of the player and placed the record upon the platter, wasting no time to move the tone arm over and press the stylus gently upon it. There was a light crackling for a moment, but you smiled when you heard the man upon the record begin to sing gently.

“ _Return to me… oh my dear, I’m so lonely…”_

You sighed softly as the music filled your ears, then made your way over to the loveseat and sat down upon it again. You watched as Stefano stared at the record player for a moment, and then shook his head as a light smile graced his lips.

“It’s been quite a long time since I’ve heard this man’s voice. Though I prefer classical music, particularly Serenade for Strings by Tchaikovsky, I don’t mind this particular genre. It’s quite soothing.”

You gave a nod of your head, taking another sip of your wine as an elongated sigh passed your lips. The two of you sat in silence for a while, simply listening to the crooning voice of Dean Martin fill the room. However, after a while, you found yourself giving a rather tired yawn; you glanced down at your watch to see that it was close to eleven, and you brought your free hand up to rub at your eyes. Stefano seemed to notice this, and he chuckled quietly.

“Tired already, _mia cara_?”

“I apologize. I haven’t been sleeping well this past week…”

“No, no. You needn’t apologize. I suppose I should be going, anyway.”

Stefano rose to his feet, taking a final drink from his glass to finish off the wine that was left inside. He then made his way over to the kitchen, where he promptly cleaned the glass and placed it into the dishwasher—this was something that honestly surprised you. Even though you wouldn’t vocally admit it, he didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing of his own accord. Perhaps he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty? (Though you did notice he took care not to get his suit wet).

“Oh, thank you for doing that, Stefano. I would have taken care of it.”

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t allow you to clean up a mess that wasn’t yours.”

He gave you a smile, and then proceeded to walk over to the front door. You followed him, tugging it open so that he could easily pass through; he wandered out into the hallway, where he then turned and gave you a soft farewell. You returned it with a ‘have a good night’ of your own, and then gently shut the door once he was headed down the stairs. You felt good—better than you had several hours ago, anyway. You walked over to the sink and rinsed out your own wine glass, placing it alongside Stefano’s within the dishwasher before closing it and heading over to the record player. It was now emitting a gentle cracking once more, and you laughed quietly to yourself as you took the record off the platter and placed it back into its sheath. Perhaps you’d start using the player a bit more than you had been.

Once you had closed the lid and placed the record back with the others, you began to unbutton your top as you walked down the hallway towards your room. Once you opened the door, you tossed your shirt onto the floor and then sighed in relief as you took off your bra—there was nothing quite like that feeling of freedom at the end of the day, and you reveled in it as you took off your shoes and black slacks. As tempting as it was to simply lay in bed and sleep nearly nude, you decided against it and dressed yourself in some comfortable sleepwear before laying down in your bed. For once, as you plugged your phone in, you didn’t see any the email or voicemail icons, which was quite a relief. You wrapped your arms around your pillow, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you closed your eyes and eagerly embraced sleep.

=2=

“You did wonderfully tonight… as I knew you would. Such neophytes cannot comprehend the beauty that you offered them this evening. Though, it did get a rise out of that young woman, didn’t it?”

Stefano chuckled to himself as he placed his camera down upon his desk, then took a seat upon the chair that sat behind his desk. His eye fell upon the column that he had torn from the paper all those days ago, and he shook his head as a light smile graced his lips. He then looked up at the pictures above his desk, which were now back where they belonged and properly in order, and then exhaled deeply. It would seem as though he was doing well at keeping his masks on, since it would seem that you suspected nothing whilst in his presence.

“I will admit, her anger was quite beautiful; never before have I experienced such devotion to my work. She is quite the specimen…”

He looked up at his newest creation, his gloved hand running through his hair as he admired the beauty before him. It certainly was a refreshing feeling to have some form of praise, though it was coming from one small source. No matter—that one small source was all that he needed to remind himself that his work must continue.

“Perhaps I’ll indulge myself in some personal photography for now… photos that the public eye will not be subjected to. It’s been quite a while since I’ve done anything of that sort, and it would be a lovely change of pace.”

Once more, his eye dropped to the column that was sitting underneath the lamp upon the corner of his desk. He trailed along the lines of words until he eventually came to a halt at the bottom, his gaze now upon the little photograph of you.

“And I believe I’ve found the perfect model.”

=2=

 

Author’s Note (1): Before questioning whether or not this particular view of Stefano’s attitude is “unaligned” with the persona we see in the game, please remember that this particular part of the story is taking place before the events of the game, thus his persona might act a bit differently.

Author’s Note (2): Yes, Dean Martin is a wonderful singer. Yes, this will come into play later in the story. If you’d like to experience the song Reader and Stefano are listening to, please feel free to look up “Return to Me.”

Author’s Note (3): Between college, various anxiety issues about whether or not this story is up to par with the expectations of my audience, and the word count (each chapter is approximately 6k in total) certain chapters might come out later than others. I assure my audience this story will not be abandoned any time soon. I spend hours researching, jumping in and out of game, and doing various things to make sure that I write the best story I possibly can for everyone.

Author’s Note (4): Thanks to a certain reader of this story who contacted me, I now know particular phrases Stefano would be more likely to speak in Italian—hence more _mia cara_ and less _mia amica._ Thank you, friend.

Author’s Note (5): Stefano’s childhood/adolescence is entirely my head canon. It’s touched on briefly here, but be delved into further in later chapters.

Author’s Note (6): Since a vast majority of Stefano’s artwork is unlabeled and unnamed, I will provide names—each picture described within this work is found in the game at one point or another.


	3. All a Matter of Business

 

**Current Time** _: December 2 nd, 2015_

=2=

“ _Here’s Johnny_!”

You cuddled further underneath your blanket upon the couch as you popped yet another piece of buttery popcorn into your maw, your eyes locked on to the screen in front of you. You had a horrible habit of watching horror movies late in the evening, with each and every light within your apartment turned off—this added to the already intense paranoia that you experienced, and it gave you a rush of adrenaline that you had taken an odd liking to. Every little sound that your apartment made, be it a small creak of shifting wood, an occasional whistle of wintery wind rushing alongside your closed windows, or the paranoia-induced rattle of a doorknob, made a shiver crawl along your spine; it was something that you couldn’t stop yourself from enjoying, even if your mind was continuously objecting to such a notion. Perhaps tonight would be the night a cold-blooded killer burst through your entry door, their eyes wild in a murderous rage as a knife or an axe was gripped tightly within their palm.

No, you thought—such an idea was silly. However, that was the way your brain worked whenever you settled down on the darkest of evenings to subject your mind to paranormal torture. You reached your arm out from underneath the blanket to grab another few pieces of popcorn, then absentmindedly brought them into your mouth as you continued to stare at the bright television before you. Though The Shining wasn’t considered ‘scary’ by today’s standards due to the lack of startling moments and what people called ‘jump scares,’ the very idea of watching someone you loved transform into a murderous, bloodthirsty shell of a person was horrifying—especially after watching their sanity deteriorate right before your very eyes. To you, the complete loss of humanity was something to be feared above all else.

Within your mind, you were currently begging that the young protagonist of the movie to stay safe as he made his way through the hedge maze on the screen, what little remained of his father shown to be hobbling after him not too far behind. Your heart was beating rather hastily within your chest as the tension rose, and you shoved another handful of popcorn into your mouth as you eyeballed the screen. What was going to-

A loud shriek left your lips as your hands shot up out from underneath your blanket to clutch at your chest, tiny pieces of popcorn flying every which direction as your bowl clattered to the ground beneath you. You stared at the screen of your now lit-up phone with wide eyes, quick breaths passing your lips for a few moments as your brain attempted to digest the fact that what had startled you was nothing more than the notification that alerted you that you had an unread message. Finally, you exhaled a long breath through your teeth as you sat up upon the couch, several shards of popcorn rolling along the curves of the blanket to eventually end up on the floor with their brothers and sisters.

“Ah, damn it… now there’s popcorn everywhere…”

You grunted as you reached over and grabbed the rim of the bowl, tugging it onto your lap as you began to toss pieces of your puffed snack back into it. You could ignore the message for now—who the hell had decided to text you at nearly one in the morning, anyway? It’s not like you had many people to speak to. Once you had finished cleaning up your mess, you placed the bowl upon the table in front of you, a loud sigh passing your lips as you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands. You then gave a rather loud yawn, and grabbed the remote from the corner of the table to turn off your television—the entire apartment was now covered in darkness, which sent your paranoia into overdrive once again as you grabbed your phone and hastily made your way into your bedroom.

You shut the door behind you with your foot, then walked over to your bedside table and turned your lamp on. The room was illuminated with the gentle, yellow glow of the bulb, and you situated yourself upon your bed before finally giving your phone the attention that it had so desperately craved only a few minutes earlier. You slid your finger across the screen to unlock it, then opened up your messages; you had a new message from a number that wasn’t saved into your contact book, and you rolled your eyes. It had to be some form of spam message or something, but you decided to open it anyway.

[ **Unknown** ]: _Good evening, miss ( **Last Name** ). I do apologize if the time of night is rather inconvenient for such a message, but I felt the need to contact you. I’d like to meet up tomorrow to discuss a potential business opportunity, provided you aren’t terribly busy. If so, meet me at the coffee shop across from your apartment at approximately 10:30 A.M. – S. V._

You cocked your eyebrow as you finished reading the message upon your phone; S. V.? Who on earth was that? You thought for a good minute or two, and then your mind finally managed to piece two and two together: S. V. was none other than Stefano Valentini! You gave a quiet groan—you really needed to remove your name from the phonebook; how else would he have been able to obtain your phone number? However, that was an issue for another time. Feeling that you owed him a reply, you began to run your thumbs quickly across the various letters upon the keypad at the bottom of your screen.

[ **Me** ]: _I would love to meet up with you tomorrow, Stefano. I’ll see you at the shop at 10:30 then._

After sending your response, you made sure to save his number within your contact book, just in case, and then opened up your clock app within your phone—you set it for 9:25 in the morning so that you had enough time to get ready, and so that the fiasco of gallery night wasn’t repeated, and then set your phone down upon the table beside your bed. Looks like your Wednesday was going to be busy, after all.

=2=

When 9:25 A.M. finally came, you opened your eyes with ease—this was something that surprised you, since you weren’t particularly one to be ready and raring to go in the morning. However, you brought yourself into an upright position upon your bed, an over-exaggerated yawn leaving your lips as you brought your arms above your head to relax your stiff morning muscles. You then tilted your head, a pleased smile creeping across your lips as you rubbed the back of your neck gently with the palm of your hand; there was nothing quite like the feeling of your muscles relaxing early in the morning, was there? Once you were fully stretched out, you hopped out of your bed and wandered into your bathroom to get ready for the day.

Since it was cold as all hell, you decided that a pair of fitted jeans and a navy turtleneck would do for your attire today. It was simple, and it was something that was going to keep you warm, which is what you ultimately wanted. Once you had dressed yourself appropriately, you grabbed your pair of black ankle boots from within the corner of your closet, then made your way out into your bedroom to grab a pair of socks to wear before slipping them onto your feet.

By the time you finished preparing yourself for the day (which included doing your hair, brushing your teeth, and other general activities of cleanliness) you glanced down at your watch to see that it was 10:03. Since you still had some time to spare, you decided to make your bed, and generally tidy your room up since it was a bit more of a mess than you would have preferred it to be.

Finally, when it was about 10:20 or so, you walked out into the living room and grabbed your heavy coat from within the coat closet, slipping your arms into the sleeves and zipping the front of it. As always, you grabbed your bag from the table beside the front door, then walked out into the freezing winter air. As you made your way down the stairs that led to the ground level of the building, you made sure to take note that several of the lower steps were covered in a thin sheet of ice—the last thing you wanted was to slip and potentially break something. After stepping carefully down the last few steps, your shoes crunched upon the layer of snow that had formed upon the ground overnight; you could see several large flakes drifting down in the air around you, and you smiled a bit as you began to make your way towards the coffee shop across the road from your apartment building.

The shop itself, which was oh-so-cleverly named ‘Krimson Koffee,’ was bustling with people attempting to escape the cold that had overtaken the city. You attempted to scan the inside of the building to see Stefano, but you were unsuccessful—at least until you saw him giving small waves of his right hand in order to grab your attention. This brought a smile upon your lips as you made your way to the back of the shop, a soft breath passing your lips as you shrugged off your jacket and took a seat on the booth upon the opposite side of Stefano.

“God, it’s freezing out there. I didn’t realize it was this cold.”

“Indeed. I took the liberty of getting you a drink to remedy this, however. I hope that hot chocolate is to your liking.”

You watched as he gently slid a medium-sized cup across the table, a thin line of steam rising from the small hole upon the top of the lid. You wrapped your fingers around the cup, which instantly warmed your hands, then brought it to your lips—you made sure to take tiny sips of the liquid within, lest you accidentally burn your tongue or any other part of your mouth. It was a relief to have the warm feeling spread throughout your body, and you would make sure not to drink all of it in case you went anywhere else today within the wintery weather of Krimson City.

“Thank you, Stefano. You didn’t have to get me-“

“Please, don’t thank me, _mia cara._ Also, I would like to offer an apology for contacting you at such a late hour; if I woke you, I certainly did not mean to do so.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Stefano. Though, I will admit I was a bit surprised to get a message from you. I take it you got my number via the phonebook?”

Stefano gave a nod of his head, bringing his own cup to his lips to take a sip of whatever was within it. Now having the answer that you were looking for, you turned your attention momentarily to the entrance of the shop, where several talkative teenagers were making their way outside; once they were gone, you and a few others within the building were relieved to finally have a bit more peace, since a majority of the noise seemed to have stemmed from them. You brought your cup to your mouth, allowing a bit bigger of a swig to seep past your lips now that it was beginning to cool down, and then returned your attention back to Stefano—only to have a thought immediately enter your mind. You rummaged around within your bag for a moment, and then tugged your journal from within it.

“I almost forgot! I almost have my newest column done! Would you uh… care to read it?”

“Ah, this seems familiar. Almost akin to when I showed you my newest piece before it was revealed, hmm?”

You gave a shy laugh as you nodded your head and held your journal out in his direction, which he then gently took from your grasp and opened to look over. He cocked his eyebrow as he ran his eyes over a few messy notes that you had taken, and he flipped through about six pages of them before coming to the beginning of your unfinished column.

“ _Upon attending Mr. Valentini’s second solo show here in Krimson City, it was apparent that the photographer continues to extend his reach even further into the dark, macabre subjects that so many are afraid to touch upon. Though nearly all seem to view this in a negative light, the truth cannot be denied that there is most certainly beauty within his photography. Upon examining some pieces of his works in more detail, I noticed that Mr. Valentini always tends to reflect a certain part of himself within his photography—more particularly within the titles that he bestows upon them._

_The particular piece I noticed was one titled “Fruits of Our Labor,” which can be the very definition of our dark artist himself. Though his artwork is constantly met with an unaccepting and scathing audience, he has become incredibly successful and continues to grow and expand his already vast experience in the art of photography. The same can be said for the most recent piece of photography the artist revealed at his solo show, which goes by the title of “Afterglow.” Mr. Valentini sees the beauty of his artwork much like the general populous sees beauty in the natural world around them: I.E. the afterglow one might see in the hours of fading twilight, hence where the title of his work comes into play._

_Mr. Valentini’s form of art is something that brings new and unusual ideas to the drawing board of the artistic community, which is something I believe to be incredibly rare after examining works from various other artists. While there are ten million people who will take pictures of well-lit, mountainous scenery, or rumbling, dark storms and call it art, only a select few dare to go beyond what society deems as acceptable to the common people’s eye—Mr. Valentini is one of them._ ”

Upon reading the final sentence, Stefano closed the journal with gentle hands and placed it upon the wooden table that rested between the two of you. He seemed thoughtful for a moment, which was no relief to your anxiety-riddled heart, but then gave a slight smile in your direction. As he pushed your journal across the table and into your waiting hands, he parted his lips to speak.

“I like it. I also enjoyed how you attempted to read between-the-lines and delve further into the meaning behind my titles—not many critics do such a thing, even if they are attempting to ridicule my beautiful works of art.”

Having received words of approval from the artist, you exhaled a long breath through your lips—you were overjoyed to hear that he enjoyed what you had of your column, and it was a huge relief on your end. You took another gulp of your now lukewarm hot chocolate, and then placed the cup upon the table before shoving your journal back into your bag.

“I can’t express how relieved I am to hear that you liked it, Stefano. If there’s anything that you didn’t like about it, please let me know so I can-“

“And attempt to mold your words into my own? _Mia cara_ , I would never! Your words are yours alone, and I would change nothing about them. Quite frankly, what matters to me is that you enjoy the art I produce, and that you aren’t afraid to put uneducated masses in their place.”

You blinked at his response, but it was very much like him to be unwilling to change anything about your work. Just like him, you were one of the very few people who dove against the tide instead of flowing along with it, and having someone change your words, even if it was someone like Stefano, would begin to sculpt you into just another one of the critics you dared to go against. He was right, after all—your words were your words, and you shouldn’t feel compelled to change them even if others claim you should. You heard Stefano clear his throat, which brought you out of your thoughts, and you watched as he reached down beside him upon the booth and bring his Polaroid upon the tabletop.

“I do believe I said I had a business proposition for you, did I not? Are you still willing to hear about it?”

Oh, that’s right! You had almost forgotten that Stefano wanted to talk to you about something. You gave a nod of your head to show that you were interested, and this made a small smile slither across his lips before he began to speak.

“ _Meraviglioso._ As you know, I recently finished creating two wonderful works of art that I displayed to the masses. However… I feel as though I could use a bit more practice before creating something even better than everything I have previously done. So, with that being said, I’d like to hire you to be my practice model.”

Wait, had you just heard what he had said correctly? Your gaze fell to his hands, which were now messing with his camera, and you couldn’t help the light feeling of anxiety that squeezed your chest—you wanted to immediately say yes to him, but you weren’t too keen on having photographs taken of you. You were rather camera-shy, and the fact that Stefano typically showed his work to the public was something that made anxiety’s grip upon your chest even tighter.

“I… I’d really love to say yes, Stefano. I would. But, I’m not good in front of a camera, you know? Especially when all your artwork gets displayed publicly, and-“

“Oh, _mia cara_ , I would never use your figure without your permission! The photographs I take of you would go into a private portfolio of mine—one that would never be visible to the public eye. I assure you, on my honor as an artist, that your photographs will be seen only by you and myself.”

You stayed quiet for a little while, mulling the thought over within your mind. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too terrible, considering that Stefano was one of the best photographers that you knew of when it came to this sort of thing. Finally, you inhaled a deep breath and gave the man sitting in front of you a slightly-nervous smile.

“Alright… I’ll be your model.”

“Fantastic—that is just what I was hoping to hear. Perhaps we could return to my studio so we could discuss some things? That is, if you don’t have other plans?”

After explaining that you didn’t have any plans for the rest of the day, you and Stefano decided to leave the coffee shop and begin your walk across the city towards his studio. Though the two of you could have easily taken a taxi and avoided the wintery weather, the two of you found it rather relaxing to simply enjoy each other’s company side by side. Throughout the walk, you and Stefano did a bit of haggling about pricing of the photoshoots, since you were hellbent on not allowing him to pay you more than about seventy-five dollars at most on each session—though he claimed money was no object to him, you weren’t about to take advantage of such a thing. Eventually, you both came to settle on the payment of one-hundred and twenty-five dollars per photoshoot, and even then, you still thought it to be far too much. But, you knew far too well that he wasn’t going to budge once the deal was settled.

When the two of you finally arrived at the building where his studio was located, you were in utter shock; it was one of the largest buildings in all of the city, and you knew it to be one of the most expensive, as well. You followed Stefano inside, and were immediately greeted by one of the bellhops that stood near the inside of the entryway doors. You returned the greeting shyly, hastily walking alongside Stefano through the beautiful building. You glanced up as you made your way through the central part of the lobby, a glistening chandelier hanging overhead and illuminating the near-empty room with a gentle, yellow hue. When you reached the elevator, you and Stefano waited for a moment whilst it reached the bottom floor, and then made your way inside—you watched as he pressed his gloved forefinger against the button that read PH, and you could have swore your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

“Stefano, surely we’re not going-“

“Oh yes... I forgot to mention that my studio is a penthouse one.”

You stayed silent, and you could have sworn you saw an amused smile cross the man’s lips. This made you feel a bit embarrassed, but you honestly didn’t realize just how well Stefano lived. The penthouse studio located in this particular building was forty-two hundred square feet, and you didn’t even want to think about how much it would cost to rent it out as a living space, much less buy it. But, it made sense now that you thought about it—Stefano was a rather reclusive man when it came to his personal life, so living in a studio would most likely be his ideal home when it came to city life. He didn’t have to worry about roommates, or noisy neighbors.

You heard the gentle ping of the elevator as it passed each floor by, and eventually, it came to a halt on the top floor—floor 50. Once the door opened, it revealed a long, narrow hallway that only seemed to end with the door that you presumed led into Stefano’s studio. You followed him along it, mentally preparing yourself for whatever this studio was going to look like on the inside—you had only ever known apartments and small houses you entire life, so studios weren’t something that you were accustomed to, much less one that was this size. You noticed that Stefano was reaching into the pocket of his coat, and whenever he removed it, he held a black and white keycard within his fingers—he then used this to open the door to his studio, and upon entering, you were in utter amazement.

The studio itself was enormous, but the décor and designing was splendidly done. Though it was all one large room, there were several demountable wall systems that seemed to form their own rooms around the living area. From what you could tell, there was the living room, complete with couch and coffee table, the kitchen, which was walled off only on one side so that access was still incredibly easy, an office, which was a separate room all its own since the divider had a door to access it, and what appeared to be a darkroom, since the divider was without any form of windows and only had the door for entry. The back wall of the studio was curved slightly, and Stefano had taken advantage of this by converting that large area into a shooting area—there were several studio lights placed in various locations, and quite a few props that were lined up neatly on a shelf just out of view of the camera. The camera itself was something that you had never personally seen before; it was a mounted dry plate camera, a black cloth draped neatly across the back as it awaited a new subject to photograph.

Stefano obviously had an affinity for the black and white color scheme, seeing as how nearly everything within the studio followed that pattern. Sitting beneath his coffee table was a circular, black and white rug that appeared to be made out of some type of faux fur, and he had several white marble coasters resting atop the coffee table to compliment the black material they were resting upon. It was only then that you noticed the framed photographs hanging around in various parts of the studio—they were all his work, including the ones that you had seen only a few nights ago at the gallery. The dark tones fit well with the overall monochrome scheme of the studio, and though the photographs obviously held colors other than black and white, they didn’t seem too out of place at all.

“Wow… this place is amazing, Stefano. Did you do all the decorating yourself?”

“But of course. An artist must allow his creativity to flourish on such a blank canvas, yes?”

You gave a nod of your head, and Stefano gestured towards the living room in a way that asked you to take a seat. You made your way over, your eyes still wandering around the room in awe as you took a seat upon the black leather couch near the wall.

“Would you care for anything to drink, _mia cara_?”

“Oh no, Stefano. I’m fine, thank you.”

Hearing your answer, the photographer sat down upon the chair adjacent to you, and placed his Polaroid upon the coffee table. He then leaned back against the head of the chair and crossed one leg over the other, his hands coming to rest upon his knee as he turned his attention to you.

“Now… there are a few things I’d like to discuss. First, what do you deem uncomfortable for you in photography? For example, are you uncomfortable with taking photographs entirely nude?”

Almost immediately, you felt a heat rush across your cheeks at the idea of Stefano photographing you naked. You gave a half-nervous half-embarrassed giggle, then ran your palms along your face before offering the man a reasonable answer.

“I mean… I might be up for it once I become comfortable shooting with you. I _might_. I’m not accustomed to such things, you know? But, for now, can we keep my clothes on?”

Stefano gave a quiet chuckle of his own, then a nod of his head to show that he understood. You were relieved at this, and you exhaled a long breath through your teeth as you attempted to relax yourself upon the couch. At least he was asking, right? And he wasn’t irritated at your answers or anything, so that was a nice plus. He then proceeded to ask you several more questions, such as whether or not you were comfortable using blood in photographs, (which he assured you was nothing more than thickened corn syrup and food dye) whether or not he was permitted to dress you in certain attire for his photos, and whether or not he was allowed to take your measurements in order to obtain certain clothes for your photoshoots. You agreed to all of these things, which seemed to please the photographer greatly.

“For now, I’d like to get your measurements, ( ** _Name_** ). Then perhaps I can have the pleasure of photographing you for the first time? Your current attire is very flattering, and would look well captured on my camera.”

Once more, a light heat dashed across your cheeks—had Stefano just complimented your outfit? It wasn’t anything special, or at least that’s what you thought about it whenever you put it on this morning. You considered it a nicer outfit than loose jeans and a tee-shirt, but you never thought it deserved any form of compliment, especially from someone like Stefano. You cleared your throat and responded that you’d love to let him have your measurements, and he directed you to stand near the photo-shooting area in the back of the studio whilst he got his measuring tape. You followed his directions, making your way over to stand in front of the old camera—it was still so incredibly odd that Stefano would have such an old camera in his possession, let alone a working one. However, it was quite clear that this man’s one passion was photography, so it made sense that he’d have his hands on such a relic.

You heard the door to Stefano’s office open, and you noticed that he had a yellow roll of measuring tape within his hand now. You couldn’t remember the last time that you had your measurements taken, so this was certainly going to be an experience. He made his way in front of you, unrolling a bit of the tape within his hands and giving you a small smile.

“First your waist. Hold your arms straight to your sides, please.”

You raised your arms out to either side, and you saw Stefano drop to one knee as he wrapped the measuring tape around your waist. He hummed softly to himself as he read the number the tape was showing, and then glanced up at you.

“Now your hips. Stay just like that, _mia cara_.”

You felt the tape move a bit further down, so that it was pressing lightly against both your hips and your buttocks. You inhaled a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm—it was incredibly hard, since this was quite an embarrassing situation to you. After all, this man was your artistic idol, and if you were honest, he was quite good looking, too. The whole scenario was just foreign to you, and with him being so close to your body, it didn’t help your embarrassment. Had this been someone else, you might not have had such an issue. Once more, a thoughtful hum came from Stefano, who was now gently pressing his hand against the lower part of your inner thigh.

“Are you comfortable with me taking your inseam measurements?”

Oh no—you had entirely forgotten about the inseam measurements. You gulped, but gave a nod of your head before turning your gaze onto one of the photographs upon the wall. You absolutely refused to look at him whilst he took your inseam measurements; you could feel his fingers pressing lightly against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your most intimate area, and you bit down roughly on your lip to keep your concentration on the photograph upon the wall. You could feel the tape travel down the length of your leg, and within mere moments, Stefano moved his hands away from your leg upon obtaining your measurements.

“Perfect. Now for your thigh…”

You were much more comfortable feeling the tape wrap around your thigh, and Stefano made sure not to linger for too long on any one area of your body. He proceeded to take your upper arm measurements, along with your sleeve length, and then looked at you for a moment before giving you a light smile. He brought your arms up to either side of your body once again, and then carefully brought the tape around your chest. By now, your entire face had to be a brilliant shade of crimson—Stefano was incredibly close to you right now, but thankfully he took the measurement quickly and then stepped away from you.

“Marvelous measurements. Thank you, ( ** _Name_** ).”

You gave a quick nod of your head, trying to calm your racing heart within your chest. However, this moment of reprieve didn’t last long; Stefano stepped forward once more, his fingers gently running through several strands of your ( ** _color_** ) hair and situating them wherever he deemed to be proper. You felt your breath catch in your throat, but you said nothing and simply allowed him to do his work. You assumed this was him beginning to spruce you up for your photo shoot, and he needed to be able to do his work in peace. It wasn’t long before he brought a simple stool over and placed it behind you, and then brought you to sit upon it. He positioned your body in such a way that made you feel as though you were taking pictures for the high school yearbook, which made you smile to yourself.

“For now, we shall start with a very basic photograph. We’ll work our way up in complexity as we continue our sessions, yes?”

You gave a tiny nod of your head, since you didn’t want to move out of the exact post that he had placed you in, and you watched as he dipped underneath the black cloth that had previously been resting atop his relic of a camera. You stared at the lens in front of you, waiting for some sort of cue from Stefano—finally, you heard all that you needed to hear.

“Smile for me.”

=2=

You brought the straw of your drink within your lips, absentmindedly taking small sips of the liquid within as you stared at the various bottles of alcohol sitting behind the bar. Thankfully the bar was rather empty on Wednesday nights, so you were able to think to yourself in relatively quiet peace—but was thinking the right term for it? Or were you just daydreaming? Perhaps some of both? You were drawn out of your trance by Vincent, who was giving you a rather sly grin as he bent down in front of your face. You blinked, your mind returning to earth as you brought the straw out of your mouth.

“Vincent? What’s with that face, huh?”

He said nothing, but the grin upon his lips seemed to widen as he began running his cloth over one of the glasses he had finished cleaning not too long ago. When you stayed silent, unsure of what on earth was going on with him tonight, he finally gave a laugh and placed his glass down upon the counter.

“I happened to see you this morning inside Krimson Koffee, and I even tried to get your attention, but you were far too enamored with your guest to notice.”

It was then that you realized what he was talking about, and you felt a heat spread across your cheeks—a heat that wasn’t from the alcohol you were currently partaking in. You cleared your throat before bringing your glass to your lips to take a rather large swig of your drink, and then exhaled deeply before answering him.

“I-I’m sorry, Vincent. I really didn’t hear you…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! You were on a date, so naturally you’d be preoccupied with your partner.”

Date? Did Vincent just say _date_? You laughed as you leaned back from the counter, your gaze falling upon the man’s face as he continued to give you that stupid grin. You rolled your eyes—leave it up to Vincent to tease you after having such an interesting day.

“Vincent, it wasn’t a date.”

“Oh really? Did he buy you a drink?”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you go somewhere else with him afterwards?”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“Then it was a date!”

You stopped yourself from speaking, your mind now beginning to wonder whether or not you _had_ gone on a date. No, that wasn’t possible at all. It was simply a meeting between two people. Besides, Stefano had only wanted to meet with you to discuss that business proposition, right? Yeah, that was it. Even if he was such a gentleman to you every time you had met, and he was rather good looking…

You shook your head, immediately flushing out your mind of such thoughts. It was only a meeting between two people as friends, if you could have the pleasure of calling him such a thing. Nothing more, nothing less. You gave a quiet sigh as you took yet another drink from your glass, and then returned your attention to Vincent.

“Vincent… look, he only wanted to discuss a business deal, okay? And we discussed it over some hot chocolate, then went back to his place to talk about the thing even more. I promise it wasn’t a date.”

“( ** _Name_** ), I’ve known you since middle school. Maybe you should try to take things a bit further with this guy, yeah? You’ve never really opened yourself up to anyone, right? I mean you had that dude back in tenth grade, but you were together for what, a week? You’re twenty-five years old, and you’re the most intelligent, most beautiful, and kindest woman I’ve ever known. You obviously like him a lot, since you defend him to high hell, so why not try to make something with him?”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Vincent was right. The boy that he had mentioned was the only experience with men that you had ever known, and even then, the most you did was hold hands. You had convinced yourself that you didn’t mind it, but you knew that solitude was rather tiresome after some time. You most certainly weren’t about to rush anything—in the end, you’d simply see where it ended up going with Stefano. If things fell into place, perhaps you wouldn’t mind it, but for the time being, things were strictly professional between the two of you. You gave a quiet sigh, then felt a smile form upon your lips as you looked up at the man behind the bar.

“Thanks, Vincent. I guess… I guess I’ll just see where things go, okay? I’m not promising anything, but maybe I’ll try.”

He gave a nod of his head, then gave you a soft smile and placed his hand gently on top of your own for only a moment.

“I care about you, ( ** _Name_** ). You’re my best friend, after all. But, I’m letting you know, if he tries anything without your consent, I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

You gave a quiet laugh, then reassured him that such a thing wouldn’t happen for a long while, if at all. Unfortunately, Vincent got called away by one of the customers in need of a drink, and ultimately left you alone with your now swirling mind. You brought your glass to your lips, draining whatever liquid remained within it, and then sighed deeply as you pulled your wallet out of your bag. It was getting late, and you didn’t want to end up going home at one in the morning. You took out a twenty, which was more than enough to pay for your drink and a tip for Vincent, then placed it underneath your glass once you knew that Vincent was looking. Finally, you bundled yourself up, put your wallet back into your bag, and then walked out into the dark, snowy streets.

The night would be sleepless as newfound ideas and emotions swirled within you, but you didn’t know that yet.

=2=

Author’s Note (1): No, things are not progressing quickly. I’m not a fan of quick romance. Reader is just rather confused on what she wants right now, that’s all.

Author’s Note (2): Stefano living within a studio is something that I imagine him to do, since it offers a kind of solitude that normal apartments don’t give. Also, yes, I do believe that Stefano is rather well-off, hence why he can afford everything described. However, he is not reckless with his money—he might be generous, as seen when he wouldn’t allow Reader to take less than (x) amount for her photo shoots, but he doesn’t throw it around.

Author’s Note (3): If you’ve never had your measurements taken before, I assure you that it’s incredibly awkward when taking the inseam measurement. Hell, it’s rather awkward in general. But being around someone you think is attractive when they’re taking the inseam measurement? It’s quite the event.

Author’s Note (4): Stefano having the black and white color scheme affinity stems from the overabundance of greyscale photographs found within the game. Nearly every picture, aside from his major ones such as _Afterglow_ and _Innocent Gift_ , is found to be in greyscale.


	4. Artist's Lament

**Current Time** _: December 19 th, 2015_

=2=

Tired eyes creaked open, the blur of the dark room surrounding you filling your vision. You parted your lips, a gurgling mumble leaving your throat as you lifted your head slightly from your pillow to give a quick look around the darkened room. You blinked slowly, trying to rid the blur from your eyes as you fumbled around for the phone that rested upon your bedside table. Once you had the device within your fingers, you slowly brought the illuminated screen to your face, just barely able to make out the time: 4:33 A.M. It was only now that your mind began to register what exactly had woken you—the loud, rhythmic thumping coming from the floor beneath you, and the feeling of your bed vibrating along to the beat of the incessant music. You rolled your eyes, tossing your phone into the wrinkles of your bedsheets as you brought yourself to sit upright; this was the third night in a row that your downstairs neighbors had been partying throughout the hours of the night, and you were beginning to grow weary of it.

Knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fall back to sleep, you slung your legs over the side of the bed and rose to your feet, the sound of cracking toes and popping bones reaching your ears as your body hastily grew accustomed to its new position and relaxed itself. You gave a quiet groan as you shuffled yourself into your bathroom, your fingertips running through the messy muff of hair atop your head as you made your way over to your bathtub—you didn’t care how early it was, any time was a good time for a hot, relaxing bath. Hell, perhaps you might be a rebel and put some bubbles in there this time. You made sure that the drain was properly plugged so water couldn’t make a desperate escape, and then unleashed the torrent of warm water into the porcelain tub to allow it to fill.

You gave a quiet grunt as you tugged your pajama shirt off over the top of your head, lazily allowing it to drop from your grip and onto the floor next to your sink, and then proceeded to do the same thing with your pants and undergarments. Before you knew it, you were clad in nothing more than your birthday suit, and it struck you that you might want to do a bit of light reading whilst relaxing in your bath—after all, maybe it would help drown out the damn music that was still vibrating your apartment. You made a quick trip out into your bedroom to locate your phone, and then grabbed your favorite book from the drawer of your bedside table and hastily made your way back into the bathroom. By this time, the tub was about a third of the way full, and you hummed to yourself as you rummaged around underneath your sink for that bottle of liquid you kept for emergencies like this. Once you found it, you popped the top off and threw several long ropes of it into the water—almost immediately, the water began to form a thin layer of bubbly film upon the top, which eventually evolved into large, mountainous hills of foam.

Growing rather tired of wandering around naked, you cautiously slipped one foot under the pile of foam and into the warm water. It sent a shudder along the entirety of your figure, goosebumps forming on your flesh as your body began to make itself used to the change in temperature. You reached over and turned off the faucet before slipping your other foot underneath the foam, and gradually eased the rest of your lower body beneath the surface of the water. Once you were comfortable, you gave a sigh of pleasure and leaned your head back against the head of the tub, but not before making sure that your book and phone were safely placed on the windowsill that was to your left.

After allowing yourself to soak for a good five minutes, you heard something that you hadn’t experienced all night: silence. The seemingly never-ending thumping of music had ceased, and now the only sound that filled your ears was beautiful silence; well, aside from the occasional drop of water that fell from the metal mouth of the faucet. However, that was most certainly something that you could put up with. You reached up onto the windowsill, grabbing your book within your hand before bringing it down in front of you and opening up to where your bookmark was to continue reading.

After losing yourself within the contents of your book, you were drawn back to reality by the sound of your phone going off upon the windowsill. You glanced over to your right to take a look at the analog clock sitting upon the corner of your sink, and you now saw that you had spent nearly thirty minutes in the bath already: 5:01 A.M. You grabbed your bookmark, sliding it neatly between the pages of your book before shutting it and placing it back upon the windowsill, and then replaced it with your phone. You flicked your thumb across the screen to unlock it, not even bothering to look at who the message was from, and then opened your messaging app to read it properly. To your surprise, you had not one, but two messages—one from Vincent, which had been received at 4:56 (you must have been too deep into your book to hear your phone) and the most recent one, which was from Stefano. God, they were both such early birds; you decided to read Vincent’s message, since it was the one that had been received first.

[ **Vinny** ]: _Boss called me this morning. I don’t think he knew it was me lol… he sounded pretty drunk. Not to mention he called me “Rebecca” which is the name of his wife. I’ve never been sweet-talked by my boss before, but damn. He and his wife must have some crazy bedroom life by what he was saying lmao_

[ **Me** ]: _Thank you for the lovely bit of info at the end there, Vincent. I guess you and I both had an early morning. The idiots beneath me were partying from like 9 to 4… didn’t get any sleep. They’ve been doing this for 3 days now. So now I’m just sitting in the bathtub to try and get some form of peace._

After thumbing the send button and watching the little speech bubble pop up on your end of the conversation, you returned to your inbox and pressed down upon Stefano’s name in order to see exactly what he had sent you. It was an image that had to be downloaded, and the name was simply “Preview”; you cocked your eyebrow curiously, and then allowed it to download—when the image finally revealed itself to you, you felt a small smile creep upon your lips. It was one of the photographs that he had taken of you at the third photography session you had done with him two days ago; it was a bust shot, but it was certainly one of the most beautiful photographs you had ever seen of yourself. You always hated how you looked whenever your picture was taken, but Stefano seemed to be the only photographer that was able to remedy such a negative outlook on your pictures.

There was no doubt about it—this photograph was going to be your new photograph for any columns that you made. You made sure to save the image to your phone, and then began to thumb down a response for the man to read.

[ **Me** ]: _This is absolutely beautiful, Stefano. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to use it as my new image to go alongside my columns in the paper! However, why did you name it “preview?” What is it a preview of?”_

[ **Stefano** ]: _You’ll come to find out in due time, I assure you. I’m also quite flattered you wish to use it as your column image—please do so, by all means._

Once you had read Stefano’s response, you sighed deeply and placed your phone back upon the windowsill. The water within the tub was beginning to get a bit cold now, so you dug around beneath the water to unplug the drain before rising to your feet. You figured it would be a good time to take a shower now, especially since you were covered in bubbles and hadn’t done any real washing, so you stepped out of the tub and onto your rug, which grew dark as it soaked in water that dripped from your body. You stepped over to the glass door that led into your shower, opening it to turn it on and allow the water to heat up a bit. Thank God this apartment building had the water bill included as a paid amenity.

=2=

By the time that you were fully ready for the day, it was about eight thirty in the morning. You had taken your time, seeing as how you didn’t really have to be anywhere in a hurry, and you had spent a majority of your time laying upon your bed thumbing down responses to both Stefano and Vincent. You knew that Vincent could be rather talkative via text messages, but you had no idea that Stefano would almost be an equal match for him. You had partaken in several small conversations with him before, but this was the first time he had continuously spoken to you in a non-formal style. You supposed it might have something to do with the fact he had begun to rant about the other columns that he had read that had been released over the course of the past few weeks—they, like yours, were centered around the solo show that he had hosted, and as always, they weren’t singing his praises.

[ **Stefano** ]: _It simply amazes me how ignorant the masses are, ( **Name** ). They appear to willingly ramble on for years about how a photograph of nothing more than a field of grass holds beauty and wonder, yet they refuse to acknowledge the exquisite beauty in the artwork I pour my heart and soul into._

[ **Me** ]: _I know, Stefano. I don’t understand them, either. I’ll tell you what… how about I come over to your place? We can talk in person there, and maybe do a photo session if that would make you feel better?_

[ **Stefano** ]: _You’re too kind, ( **Name** ). I suppose I wouldn’t mind the company. What time do you think you’ll arrive?_

[ **Me** ]: _Hmm… I could be there in about ten minutes if I took the bus. Well… granted the bus isn’t off schedule. We all know the Krimson City bus line isn’t very reliable._

[ **Stefano** ]: _Ah yes… damnable thing. Well, I will expect you over sometime soon._

You took a glance up at the top right corner of the screen to see that the time was now eight fifty-three, and you quickly got up out of bed. Thankfully the bus typically arrived at around nine, and there was a stop just outside your apartment, so all you had to do was make your way down the stairs. You made sure all the lights and such were turned off as you made your way through the apartment, and then grabbed your heavy coat from inside your coat closet near the entry door. After hastily slipping it on, you grabbed your bag and your keycard, and then made your way out into the wintery city.

The bus, which pulled up to the stop right as you got to the bottom of the stairs, welcomingly allowed you inside with the help of your bus pass. Once you had taken a seat, you noticed at it was nearly empty, save an elderly woman in the very back of the vehicle and a young man who was staring down at his phone. Wait, why did that young man look so familiar?

“Vincent?”

The man looked up from his phone, only to have a huge smile spread across his lips. He rose to his feet and made his way over to you, plopping down upon the empty seat to your left and giving you a nudge on your shoulder.

“Hey! What are the odds we’d see each other on the bus, huh?”

“I dunno, but it’s pretty nice! Where are you heading, Vincent?”

“Well, I’m just heading down to the library. Thought I’d do a bit of reading there, since I haven’t had any time, y’know? But what about you? Where are you going so early in the morning?”

“I’m just going over to Stefano’s place. He’s all worked up about the other critics and their columns, so I thought I’d give him some company.”

As soon as you answered your best friend, you realized the dire mistake you had made. His eyebrow cocked as a sly grin came upon his lips, and he stared at you as he brought his cheek to rest upon your shoulder—this was something he had done throughout all the years you had known him, so it wasn’t something that particularly bothered you. You knew you were in for some teasing, however, since that was the only time he ever acted like this.

“Giving him some company, hmm? What kind of company are we talking about here?”

“Vincent, it’s nothing like that…”

You shoved him gently, which he greatly over-exaggerated and acted as though you had rammed him full force with your shoulder. This elicited a laugh from the both of you, and you continued to talk about things going on in your daily lives as the bus made various stops around the city. Eventually, the elderly woman ended up getting off of the bus, leaving only you, Vincent, and the bus driver as residents within it. You heard Vincent say something about the next stop being where he had to get off, and you saw his eyes light up as he gave a smile.

“Oh yeah, I entirely forgot! I know you don’t like big parties with tons of people, but on Christmas Eve, we’re heading over to the club on 51st Avenue. Do you want to come along?”

“Mmm… probably not. I just get worn out too quickly when I’m around tons of people like that. Even going to your bar is sometimes a bit much, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah! I just wanted to ask was all. It’s not a big deal, ( ** _Name_** ). But, you better be home at midnight, cause I’m coming to your apartment afterwards and I have a surprise for you!”

You felt the bus come to a stop, and Vincent rose to his feet as he turned his attention to the now-open door that led out onto the snow-covered sidewalk. He then looked at you one last time and placed a hand on your shoulder to say goodbye, and you noticed him wink before hurrying to the front of the bus and hopping out onto the sidewalk. You rolled your eyes—Vincent always was pretty silly around you, but you loved him all the same. You saw him wave through the window as the bus began to drive off, and you waved back at him to give one final goodbye. Now you were the only one, aside from the driver, left upon the lonely bus.

Thankfully the feeling of loneliness wasn’t prolonged for much longer—your stop was directly after Vincent’s, and it felt good to step off of the bus and into the cold air of the city. You wandered a bit down the sidewalk, passing a few people who were on their way to who knows where, and then stopped once you got to the doors that led into Stefano’s building. You looked up, unable to see the top of the building from where you stood, and then pushed the door open to head inside. As you entered, you were greeted by the young woman sitting behind the main desk, and you gave a wave of your hand in response to this before making your way through the lobby and in front of the elevator. Your forefinger pressed gently upon the button with an upright arrow upon it, and you had to wait several minutes whilst the elevator made its way to the bottom floor.

When the doors opened, several residents within the building made their way out, one of which accidentally (or so you’d like to think) nudged you with their shoulder as they walked past you. You shot them a glance over your shoulder as you made your way into the now empty elevator, and pressed the button that would take you to the penthouse suite that Stefano was housed in. The doors pressed shut, and your journey upwards began—thankfully it wasn’t too terribly long, and before you knew it you were walking down the hallway that led up to the artist’s entry door. Once you stopped outside his door, you curled your fingers into your palm and rapped upon the door a few times to alert the resident within. It only took a few moments before the door was opened to reveal Stefano, who was clad in a black suit and red undershirt, and giving you a welcoming smile; as you walked past him, you couldn’t help but think of how dashing his current attire made him look.

“You look very nice today, Stefano.”

“Oh, only _today_? What about all the previous times we’ve met, hmm?”

“N-no, no! I didn’t mean-“

“I jest, _mia cara_. Come, allow me to prepare you a drink—is there anything that might suit your fancy at the moment?”

You responded that you would just like some water for the time being, and then watched as Stefano walked into the confines of his kitchen. You decided to head into the living room, where you took a seat upon the couch; it wasn’t long before Stefano exited his kitchen and made his way beside you, gracefully setting your glass of water upon a coaster before taking a seat upon the opposite side of the couch. You leaned over, gripping your glass within your fingers before bringing the rim to your lips and taking a small sip of the chilly liquid within. Once you had set your glass back upon the coaster, you looked over in Stefano’s direction.

“So… are you still upset about the other columns? I know you were pretty worked up about them before I left.”

Stefano gave a quiet hum, and you saw his gaze turn to the framed photographs that rested around the living room. He was silent for a while, but then gave a small smile and gestured in their direction.

“Look at them, ( ** _Name_** ). Look at them and tell me you cannot see beauty in them. Glistening crimson contrasting with gentle, pale skin… to me, such a photograph brings wonderful jubilation. And yet those goddamn philistines continue to make a mockery of me and my work.”

You saw the smile that had previously been upon his lips morph into a scowl, and you noticed the whiteness upon his knuckles as he curled his fingers harder into the palm of his hand. It was upsetting to see the artist in such a state of distress, but you kept quiet for the time being—you were going to do nothing more than listen to him, since that seemed to be what he needed right now.

“It has been this way since the day I began my career. With each wonderous picture I take, fifty more fools flock to them and degrade them—degrade _me_. I have read every article, every column… I have taken every word to heart, though I do not show it. The time I take to make sure every detail is perfect I cannot even begin to fathom, and yet a photograph that has been taken a million times before accumulates more praise. What beauty is there in repetition, ( ** _Name_** )?”

He turned his gaze to you, his brows furrowed and a look upon his face that told you he was pleading for an answer. As a follower of his art for years, you knew he had to have suffered from the ungodly amount of criticism thrown at him, and you had already had a small taste of what he had endured for years. It wasn’t pleasant, to say the very least. You gave a quiet sigh, then laced your fingers together before setting your hands upon your lap.

“I’m honestly not sure, Stefano. People don’t like change… they like things to stick to the norm, and grow anxious when things begin to alter. I suppose that’s why a picture of the same sky we see every day is so pleasing to the masses—they’re used to it. It’s something that’s ‘normal’, and thus makes them _feel_ normal. People aren’t used to seeing blood and death, and so they shame it.”

You heard Stefano give a deep sigh, and he turned his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. You bit your lip as you tried to think of what else to do; you didn’t enjoy seeing him this distraught, you were certain about that. Unsure of what else to do, you scooted yourself across the couch to the cushion beside him, and hesitantly placed a hand upon his shoulder—you felt him tense up slightly at this, but he soon relaxed against your touch.

“If it means anything… I’ll continue fighting for you. I know I’m just one person going against what feels like the world, but dammit I’ll keep doing it. You’re a wonderful artist, Stefano… and people need to recognize that.”

The room was silent for quite some time, and you eventually heard Stefano release a soft breath through his lips. He sat upright, cleared his throat, and then looked in your direction—once more, he had his normal, content expression upon his face. You had to wonder just how much pain he was hiding behind that outward façade, but you knew that you shouldn’t press the issue any further. You grabbed your glass from the coaster upon the table once more, then brought it to your lips to take another sip of the water that it held.

“You know, I must admit that your columns ease the constant criticism that society has thrown upon me, _mia cara_. Reading them puts my mind at ease, just as your words of praise do. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”

You felt a very faint heat begin to arise within your cheeks, and you knew that it was coming from the fact that Stefano enjoyed reading your columns. After all, you worked hard on them, and if he approved of them, then that was all that mattered. You took yet another drink from your glass, leaving nothing but crystalline cubes of ice left within it now, and then placed it back down upon the table before beginning to speak.

“I’m glad they can bring you happiness, Stefano. Now… how about we try to take you mind off of all those imbeciles, hmm? Care to do a photoshoot with me?”

You would have sworn you saw a spark ignite within Stefano’s eye, and you noticed the smile upon his lips only broadened as he hastily rose to his feet. Seeing how quickly he paced across the room to turn on his photography lights was certainly something to behold—he certainly was enthusiastic whenever it came to doing the thing he loved most. He gestured for you to make your way over to where he currently was, and you willingly did just that. After all, you wished to see him content at the very least, and if allowing him to take photographs of you did that, then you would never refuse.

=2=

Before you knew it, nightfall had already taken hold of the city. You had been so preoccupied with Stefano and his photography that time had seemingly slipped away from the two of you, but you didn’t mind this whatsoever. Of course, you hadn’t spent the _entire_ day doing nothing but taking pictures—after a few hours, the two of you had returned to the living room of his studio and spoke about various things, which included interests that the two of you had (you were quite surprised to learn that Stefano had an affinity for older musicians, such as Doris Day and Frank Sinatra, and that he possessed the ability to play the piano).

Now, however, you were unfortunately about to leave the artist’s abode and begin the journey back to your own apartment. You slipped your coat on over your shoulders, making sure to zip the front of it up before slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Stefano had been kind enough to accompany you to the doorway of his studio, and he stooped over to open the door for you to make your way through it. You thanked him, wished him a good night, and then began to take your leave down the hallway. However, you were stopped by a call of your name, and you turned to see that Stefano had stepped outside his studio and made the short walk to stop in front of you.

“I almost entirely forgot to ask you about this, but do you have any plans for _Natale_ , ( ** _Name_** )?”

You cocked your head slightly, unsure about how to answer his question. After a few moments, Stefano gave a chuckle upon realizing that you weren’t aware of what _Natale_ meant.

“Ah, forgive me. Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

“Oh! Well… Vincent, erm, my best friend, asked me if I wanted to go clubbing that night, but I’m not one for loud places with tons of people. So, I said no. But uh… to directly answer your question, no. I don’t currently have any plans. Why?”

“Well… perhaps you might partake in an evening here at my studio? I could prepare dinner for us, and we could enjoy each other’s company.”

You swallowed hard, your heart suddenly giving several hard thumps within your chest that made it rather difficult to breathe for a moment. You weren’t quite sure why, but you didn’t really care about it at the moment—you were more concerned with the offer that Stefano had made you. Once your body managed to allow you to breathe properly once more, you gave a smile and a quick nod of your head.

“Of course! I’d greatly enjoy an evening like that, Stefano. What time would you like me to come over?”

“Hmm… I believe six should be fine.”

“Alright! I’ll uh… I’ll see you then, Stefano. Have a good night, okay?”

“I shall do my best, ( ** _Name_** ). _Buona notte, mia cara_.”

You gave him a soft smile, then turned around and began to make your way down the hallway towards the elevator. For some reason, you felt extremely giddy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of happiness the entire way back to your apartment. Whenever you finally did arrive home, you sighed happily and threw your bag down near the entrance, then hung up your coat and flopped down onto the couch with a smile still plastered across your face. You felt silly—you were acting like a teenager that had just met their favorite celebrity, but you were too overjoyed to care. You were going to spend a nice, quiet evening with the artist you admired the most, and that was all that mattered to you.

You grabbed your remote from the table in the center of the room, turning on the television to one of your favorite channels and relaxing against the plush couch beneath you. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you as its own, the background noise of the television providing you with some vivid, interesting dreams whilst you slept peacefully throughout the night.

=2=

Author’s Note (1): Apologies for the excessive summation throughout the chapter. I promise I’ll make it up in upcoming chapters.

Author’s Note (2): Yes, Stefano’s interests and ability to play the piano are head canons of my own.

Author’s Note (3): Thanks to all of you who have kept up with this story so far. The comments and reviews I have received really warm my heart, and they help me keep going forward with my writing. I love every single one of you, and I’m so glad I have the opportunity to make you guys happy.


	5. The Past That Shapes Us

 

**Current Time** _: December 24 th, 2015_

=2=

[ **Vinny** ]: _Oh man, ( **Name** ). I’m tired of waiting in this line to get into the club. I’m thinking about just trying to sneak in around back with the guys lol!_

[ **Me** ]: _Mhm, we’ll see where that gets you, haha. I’d recommend not getting arrested tonight, Vincent._

[ **Vinny** ]: _Awww, are you saying you wouldn’t come bail me out? You’re so mean, ( **Name** )! Well, we’ll probably be standing out here for a while now… there’s still plenty of people ahead of us. Damn, I wish this place wasn’t so popular!_

[ **Me** ]: _That’s exactly why I’m not there right now. It’s too cold to be standing outside right now for hours on end… plus that means the place is packed!_

[ **Vinny** ]: _Yeah, yeah… it’d be more fun if you were here though! After all, today is the only day this club is open from 5 at night to 4 in the morning! It usually doesn’t open until like 9:30 on regular days. The guys and I made the horrible mistake of thinking people wouldn’t show up until later, though… hence why we’re stuck in this long ass line at 5:30…_

[ **Me** ]: _Shit, is it that late already? I lost track of time… Vince, I’ll talk to you later, okay? I have some stuff to do._

After finishing off your text message, you placed your phone upon the table and hastily finished wrapping up a mid-sized box that had arrived only thirty minutes ago, (thank God it actually got there on time) and then rummaged around in your bag for the black and white ribbon that you had bought earlier that day. You peeled the backing off of it, then placed it gently upon the center of now-wrapped box—hopefully this gift would be something your dinner partner greatly enjoyed. Once you made sure that the box was entirely perfect, you made your way into your bathroom to take one final look at yourself, then ran your brush through your hair to get rid of any stray strands. Finally, you were ready.

You made your way back to the front of your apartment, slipped your coat on over your shoulders, grabbed the gift and your keycard from the living room table, and then made your way out into the cold. It was already nearly dark outside, with only a sliver of light coming over the horizon as the sun bid the wintery city goodnight, but there were countless people out and about this evening. As you stood at the bus stop in front of your apartment building, you absentmindedly watched the various groups of bustling people wander their way around the snow-covered city, and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your lips when you noticed a family of four walk past you—a husband and wife, and two young children… a boy and a girl. The children were giggling as they stooped down and tossed makeshift balls of snow at one another whilst they walked, and the parents were closely watching to make sure neither of them got hurt.

Your attention was tugged away from the family as the city bus came to a halt in front of you, and you greeted the driver as you made your way to the first empty seat (granted you could have sat anywhere if you wanted to—the bus was devoid of all life aside from you and the driver). You carefully set the gift you had been holding on the seat beside you, and then gave a soft sigh as you leaned your head back against the seat.

“Where you headin’ to, love?”

“Krimson Tower, sir.”

“Ah, that fancy place, eh? Ya got family that lives there?”

“No, sir. I’m just going to spend the evening with an acquaintance of mine.”

“Ah, I see. Always wondered what it would be like to be able to live in a fancy place like that, y’know? Heard the rooms there are huge! An’ that studio on the very top of the buildin’ is the size of a small house!”

You chuckled quietly to yourself as you listened to the bus driver talk—he was right, though. The studio that Stefano lived in was absolutely huge, and not to mention how gorgeous it was on the inside. You hadn’t seen any of the other rooms, but you knew they would probably be way over your budget to afford; Krimson Tower was known for being one of the most prestigious living buildings in the entire city, so it made sense that the other rooms would be rather large and accommodating.

You and the bus driver continued to make small talk throughout most of the ride around the city, and when it was finally time for you to get off, he bid you farewell and wished you a “happy holiday.” You gave him a wave as you got off the bus, and then sighed softly as you made your way into the large building in front of you. The sudden warmth of the building made goosebumps appear upon your skin, and you unzipped your jacket as you made your way over to the elevator. While you waited for it to reach the bottom floor, you completely took off your jacket and hung it over your right arm—it felt much better to have it off now that the air around you was warm. You heard the ping of the elevator as it finally reached its destination, and you stepped inside to begin your journey upward.

On the way up, you glanced down at your watch to see that it was now 5:54, so you still had a few minutes before you were considered late. You knew that it wouldn’t be much of an issue if you arrived a few minutes later than six, but you were the type to make sure you arrived on time to events such as these. You didn’t want to seem rude, after all. You felt the elevator come to a halt, and began to make your way down the hallway once the doors slid open—once you arrived at the door, you were surprised to see that it was already being opened by a very well-dressed Stefano.

“( ** _Name_** ), it’s lovely to see you again. I knew that you had arrived when I heard the elevator.”

“I was actually just thinking about that, you know?”

You slipped past him and into the studio, which was a bit different than it normally was. To start, the lights had been dimmed, and you noticed the living room had been rearranged into a dining area of sorts. A larger table had been placed in the center where the coffee table once was, and two chairs sat on either end of it—upon the top of the table sat four candles, all of which were lit and formed several dancing shadows upon the walls of the studio. There were also wine glasses on either end of the table, alongside dinnerware, which you would be using soon. The next thing you noticed was the scent of the studio itself. It was something that you hadn’t had the pleasure of smelling in quite some time, but you recognized the unmistakable scent of a roast. It was a wonderful aroma, to say the very least. And finally, you heard the beginning notes of 1812 Overture, performed by none other than Tchaikovsky, playing throughout the entirety of the studio.

“Wow, you did some rearranging, huh?”

“Indeed. I’ve been meaning to set aside a space for a dining area, but this will do for now. However, I am most curious as to what you have within your hands, ( ** _Name_** ).”

“It’s a gift! However, I’m going to be mean and make you wait until after dinner to open it.”

You gave the man a mischievous smile, and this elicited a quiet chuckle from him as he walked further into the studio. You followed him and saw that he was making his way into the kitchen, where the scent of food only grew stronger and more enticing. You placed the box down upon the counter, making sure it was far enough away from the edge that it wouldn’t accidentally get knocked off, and then leaned your right arm against the wall to relax a bit—finally, you could no longer stand your curiosity, so you asked the question that was continuously on your mind.

“Stefano, do you mind if I ask what we’re partaking in for dinner?”

“Ah, of course not! I’ve prepared one of the traditional _Natale_ dinners that is served back home in Italy. _Brasato al Borolo_ , which is simply beef that has been braised in Barolo wine, complimented with some _purè di patate,_ or mashed potatoes. I thought a nice Merlot would pair well with the meal, as well.”

Well, well… you’re quite the chef, aren’t you? That all sounds wonderful, Stefano.”

“Hmm. When one lives alone, you often tire of the same meals day after day. I challenged myself to find variety, so I began preparing various things for myself, and thus built my fondness for cooking over time.”

You smiled at his words as you watched him elegantly slice butter into the bowl of potatoes sitting in front of him upon the counter, then begin to mash them into a smooth mass once he had added several spices to them. It was mesmerizing to watch him prepare dinner, and you eventually found yourself moving to his side to get a better look. This caught his attention, and he gave an amused smile in your direction as he continued to fold the potatoes over themselves in order to make sure they were properly mashed. Once that was done, he opened one of his cupboards and grabbed two rectangular plates from within, which he gently set upon the countertop—he then grabbed two bowls, and placed them on the right side of the plates.

He turned his attention to the roast, which was wrapped in aluminum and sitting atop his cutting board, then gracefully undid the metallic covering and tossed it into the trash bin that was to his right. He took his knife and carefully cut the meat into thin slices, then placed an even portion within both of the bowls—to finish off the meat, he added a ladle of broth to each bowl, which made your mouth water. You watched as he then added a healthy portion of potatoes to the left side of each plate, and added a dash of parsley upon them to finish them off.

“Come, _mia cara_. Sit down at the table whilst I get our wine.”

You followed Stefano to the table, where he waited while you took a seat, and then placed a plate down in front of you and the other upon the opposite end of the table. He then walked over to a mid-sized cabinet, which housed his collection of wine bottles, and hummed softly to himself whilst browsing through to find the bottle he desired. Once he had found the bottle, he removed the cork from the top with ease, and poured each wine glass approximately a third of the way full before setting the bottle down in the center of the table with the candles and taking a seat opposite of you. He wrapped his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, and then raised it across the table—you smiled as you did the same, the glasses clinking together gently as you gave yourselves a toast.

It was quiet whilst the two of you ate, save the gentle music in the background and the quiet tapping of dinnerware against your plates. However, Stefano eventually decided to break this silence with a question that caught your immediate interest.

“( ** _Name_** ), have you ever had the desire to be with someone?”

You glanced up at him while placing a forkful of potatoes into your eager maw, and then took a sip of your wine before responding to him.

“Not particularly… I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was in tenth grade. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but the most I’ve ever done was hold hands with a guy. Pretty sad coming from a twenty-five year old, huh?”

“Not entirely. Hearing the same circumstances from a thirty-one year old male might be a bit worse, hm?”

You stopped, your gaze turning away from the remaining food upon your plate to the man sitting across from you. His attention was on you, a smile that reflected both pain and longing sitting upon his lips. You had to admit, hearing that Stefano had never been with another person was rather surprising—it’s not like he was an unattractive man, quite the opposite, in fact. You placed your fork down upon the plate in front of you, then picked up your wine glass and took another sip of your wine before speaking.

“Is there a reason you’ve never been with anyone before?”

“Several. A vast majority of it comes from my love for photography, you see. Throughout my life, my beautiful creations were all that I ever needed. My longing for creating wonderous works of art far outweighed the longing I felt for a partner. Besides, not many women would be entranced by the art I create, and I couldn’t be with one who didn’t love it as I did.”

You cocked your head to the side a bit, becoming increasingly interested in what Stefano was saying. You were honestly quite relieved that you weren’t the only one who wasn’t experienced in the vast realm of romance—for the longest time, you had felt rather out of place since everyone else was already experiencing such things, but it was nice to share that inexperience with someone else now. You heard Stefano clear his throat, and he leaned back a bit in his chair before parting his lips to speak once again.

“Another reason stems from my childhood. I seldom speak of it, but I refuse to be a man like that of my father. I’ve never met him, nor do I wish to, but my mother told me stories of him. He was a man who sought only the physical pleasure a woman could offer him, and in turn, he hurt my mother deeply with such ideologies. My mother, you see, was my everything. And knowing how that bastard hurt her… well, it helped form my views on love. I’ve simply never found another whom I’ve connected with.”

“Well, perhaps you will someday, Stefano. That’s entirely up to you, you know?”

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I already have. Only time will tell, I suppose.”

It was quiet between the two of you for a long while, and then you cleared your throat as you slowly rose to your feet from the table. You grabbed your plate, which had been picked clean by this point, and then smiled in Stefano’s direction before walking into the kitchen. He soon followed you, and as you washed your dish off in the sink, you looked over at him to see him in what seemed like deep thought.

“Stefano… I’d like to hear more about your mother. If I’m not prying, of course.”

Your words shook him out of his trance, and he gave a slight smile as he began to recall the days of his youth once more.

“I was a single child. My mother and I had very little money, and we lived in the underbelly of Florence. We stayed in a tiny house, which she worked hard to keep clean, and she worked two jobs—damn near twenty-four hours a day, each day of the week. There was hardly a time when she _wasn’t_ working, come to think of it. But… it was all for me. So that she and I could have food upon the table. So, as I grew older, I wished to give my mother a better life than the one she had been forced to live.”

As Stefano continued to speak, he had made his way beside you and began to help clean the dishes. You never once took your attention off of him, however, since you were more than interested in the story he was currently telling you. It was the first time you had learned anything this personal about him, and it was something that you knew he was trusting you with.

“When I was twelve, I was given a gift by my mother—the camera that I take everywhere with me. She had been secretly saving any bit of spare money that she made just to get me that camera. I discovered my love for photography then and there, and between working my job to help her earn more money, I was taking pictures. When I turned eighteen, I went off to photograph the horrors of war and begin making a life for myself and my mother. Several months before I lost my eye… she stopped returning my letters. I came to find out that she had passed on while I was away.”

He stopped washing dishes for a moment, and the longer you looked at him, the more you could tell that he was hurting. Before you had a chance to do anything, however, he cleared his throat and continued to speak.

“My mother is why I am where I am today. I worked so hard to make a life for myself, mostly out of the guilt that I was unable to give my beloved mother the life she deserved. My love for photography, my current lifestyle… I owe it all to her.”

“Well, I’m sure that she’d be proud of you, Stefano.”

“Hmm… of that, I am not certain.”

You gave a soft sigh as you began to dry off the dishes that you had already washed, and then stopped when you noticed that Stefano was still in a trance-like state as he continued absentmindedly running his cloth over the dish underneath the running water. It took a lot of convincing to ready your mind for what you were about to do, but you eventually won it over and took a step towards him.

When Stefano felt a light pressure press against his back, it tugged him out of his thoughts and he looked down, only to see a pair of hands wrapped gently around his midsection. He glanced over his shoulder, just barely able to the top of your head that was leaning against his back—this brought a very light smile to his lips, and he cleared his throat before placing the dripping dish upon the countertop.

“( ** _Name_** ), let’s not worry about these for now. We’ve done enough already, and I’ll finish up what remains of them later.”

You gave a nod of your head as you moved yourself away from the man, a sheepish smile upon your lips as you did so. Had the room not been dimmed, the artist surely would have seen the clear embarrassment spread neatly across your cheeks—but to you, if it made him feel any better at all, it was worth it. It was then that you saw Stefano turn his attention towards his office, and he gave a small gesture towards the table.

“Ah, I nearly forgot. Would you mind taking a seat at the table for me, ( ** _Name_** )? I’ll be right back.”

You followed his figure as he made his way over to the door of his office, which he opened and promptly stepped inside of. As you took a step forward to return to the table, the black and white package that you had brought with you caught your eye, and you gently took it off the countertop before making your way back over to the table and taking a seat—after all, you had promised that you would allow Stefano to open the gift after dinner, and that time was now. Your gaze fell upon the shadows that were dancing gracefully along the walls, each one given life only by the illuminated candles upon the table; just before they were able to entrance you, your attention was drawn to Stefano as he returned from the depths of his office. You noticed that he now held something within his hand, and you hummed quietly to yourself in wonder. What was it?

He took a seat upon his end of the table, and then cleared his throat before gently sliding whatever he had previously held within his hand across the table. You carefully picked it up, and saw that it was a rectangular object covered in light red wrapping paper; from strictly holding it and eyeballing it, you assumed that it was some kind of book, and you gave a small smile as you began to tear away the paper that encased it. In order to keep it as much of a surprise as possible, you closed your eyes as you continued to tear bits of the paper off, and when you could no longer feel any more upon it, you opened your eyes to reveal what exactly Stefano had given you.

You had been right—within your hands was a mid-sized book, the front and back covers textured in a way that felt akin to what one might feel if they lightly touched the back of a reptile. Your ( ** _color_** ) eyes fell upon the golden plaque that was embedded into middle of the cover, where _Hidden Beauty_ was engraved in elegant cursive; the same cursive that you recognized in all of Stefano’s other works. You glanced up at him, only to see him give a slight nod of his head which seemed to say that he wished for you to open it. You flipped the book open, and the first thing that you saw was an image that you had been proud of whenever it was taken—it was a profile shot of your face, your head tilted back ever so slightly as several dark lines of liquid ran along the curve of your cheek. Your eyes were closed, your lips barely parted, and several droplets of the liquid had been captured as they plummeted from your jaw. Though the photograph was now monochrome, it was still beautiful—you honestly couldn’t believe the woman you were looking at was you.

You began to flip through the various pages of the book, each one containing one to two photographs that you had taken during the photoshoots that Stefano had conducted with you. On the second to last page, you found the same bust shot that Stefano had sent to you only a few days earlier via text, and you gave a small smile as you looked at it. This man really had such skill when it came to photography and making his models look perfect. Finally, you flipped to the last page of the book, which had a single photograph upon it. It was the only photograph that you had ever taken with Stefano himself, in which he was tenderly cupping your cheeks as the two of you stared at one another in a profile shot; however, the palms of his hands had been covered in the same substance he used to create his blood effects, and had left several dark streaks across your cheeks in the photograph. You remembered that during the course of his sessions, you had learned that the artist almost never photographed himself, but he had said this particular picture was an exception.

You closed the book and gave a soft sigh, then turned your attention to the man sitting across from you. You felt your lips curl upwards into a smile, and you held the book against your chest for a moment before speaking.

“Stefano, this is amazing. I’ve… honestly never felt beautiful in any pictures that have been taken of me before, and you somehow managed to make me feel and look beautiful. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, ( ** _Name_** ). You’ve made my days much lighter by allowing me to photograph you.”

You hummed softly in response to his words, and then used your right hand to gently scoot your box across the table, just as he had done for you only minutes earlier. You watched eagerly as he elegantly tugged bits of paper away from it, and then saw him cock his eyebrow whenever he set eyes upon the object that had been hidden away beneath the paper. It was a black, flocked box, about the size of a small jewelry box, that had a golden latch upon the front to keep it shut. You grinned as the man carefully undid the latch, then opened the top—a look of surprise immediately crossed his face, and he turned his attention to you for only a moment before returning his gaze to the item within the box. There, nestled snugly within crimson red felt, was a lens for his camera.

“I had to do a bit of research to find out about that camera of yours, Stefano. You have quite a rare one, you know that? However, that lens should fit it, and it will allow you better clarity and zoom.”

“( ** _Name_** )… a lens for my camera would have to be custom made at this point.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You gave the man a smile, and the look of disbelief upon his face only seemed to worsen. He gave an awkward chuckle, and removed the lens from its resting place with the softest of touches. He looked it over, then placed it back within the box and shut the lid.

“I honestly cannot believe you’d obtain such a thing for me. Surely the cost of this was-“

“Ah, ah… let’s not bring up numbers, okay? I was honestly kind of scared it wouldn’t get here in time, since, like you said, it had to be custom made. But the man who did it was incredibly hard-working, and even though it cost me a bit more, it made it on time and in perfect condition.”

=2=

Stefano leaned back in his chair, a long sigh leaving his lips. This was honestly the last thing that he had ever expected to be within the box that you had brought, but it was something that had utterly made his entire night. In fact, he was incredibly tempted to take this new lens out for a test run, and he already had several ideas in mind for how he was going to do that. However, it might be just a bit too early to do so—yeah, he’d wait a while before finding a new subject for his camera to photograph. He cleared his throat as he listened to you keep talking about the lens that you had given him, however that wasn’t what he was paying attention to. In fact, his mind was somewhere else entirely. Aside from thinking about how desperately he wished to create some new art with this lens, he was thinking about you. He was thinking about how you had gone out of your way to please him this holiday, and about everything else that you had done for him—you listened to him, you worked to make him happy, and you cared about his career and his artwork. Perhaps… just perhaps.

He was driven away from his thoughts when he saw you rise to your feet, and he glanced down at the watch that was hidden beneath his sleeve: 10:02 P.M. Had it truly been that long already? He rose to his feet and followed you to the door, where he watched as you put on your jacket.

“Stefano, thank you again for tonight. It made me so happy, and it was really nice to just… have an evening to ourselves, you know?”

He gave a nod of his head, then took your hand within his own and gave a gentle kiss to the back of it. This seemed to embarrass you, which made the man chuckle before opening the door for you to walk out of. He heard you tell him goodnight, and he gave a slight smile as you walked down the long hallway towards the elevator that would lead you down to the main floor of the building. The smile upon his lips, however, eventually began to fall once you were out of his sight, and he made his way back into his studio and into his kitchen. He looked at the few dishes that still had to be done, then slipped his hand into his pocket to remove his phone from within it. After a few minutes, he placed it down upon the counter, turned on the water of his sink, and began to quietly hum along to the tune of Dean Martin’s _Return to Me_.

=2=

Author’s Note (1): Congratulations, we’ve finally hit some fluff! Also, congratulations on learning quite a few head canons that I have for Stefano’s past! (Feel free to speak to me privately if you want more info. I know not everything is discussed in-depth here).

Author’s Note (2): Before you light your torches and grab your pitchforks, yes, I have an idea that Stefano isn’t experienced at all with intimacy or physical romance like many believe he is. This stems from my head cannoned childhood for him, and the fact that, canonically, he is shown to love his art above everything else. Am I going against a majority of what the fanbase believes? Yes, yes I am, and I completely understand and recognize this.

Author’s Note (3): I had to do a bit of research on Stefano’s camera, and I found that it closely matches the Canon P Rangefinder, which was only in production for 3 years (between 1958 and 1961) and only approximately 100,000 were ever produced. Hence why Reader had to order a custom lens for his specific camera, and why she made the comment that it was a rather rare one at that.

Author’s Note (4): Next chapter will be a rather large time-skip. I know I put dates at the top, but I’m just letting everyone know so it doesn’t take you by surprise.

Author’s Note (5): Please remember that, even though x readers are meant to have you inserted into them, Reader is also a character of their very own. Not everything Reader does reflects you specifically, (there’s no way on earth I could make a character to match every single human on this planet) so please remember that certain traits about Reader may or may not match up with you as a person (I.E. her being completely inexperienced with intimacy, or partaking in various types of alcohol).


	6. Mark of an Artist

 

 **Current Time** _: December 31 st, 2015_

=2=

“( ** _Name_** ), come on! You’re gonna look so cute in this party hat!”

You gave a groan as you rolled your eyes playfully, your head shaking slowly as you gave the man sitting upon your bed a submissive smile. He gave a grin in response to this, and then leaned over and carefully strapped the glittery, golden party hat atop your head. You looked up in an attempt to see it, but, of course, you were unable to do so—you instead reached up and gently batted the purple puffball that was resting upon the tip of the cone, then gave a quiet giggle as you watched Vincent put his own party hat upon his head. He truly was a fun-loving goofball, but that’s what you loved about him. You snickered when you heard him give a quiet ‘ouch’; he had accidentally struck the underside of his chin with the elastic band that held the hat atop his head by releasing it too early, and you couldn’t help but be amused by this.

“See? Party hats are dangerous things, Vince.”

“Oh yeah, they’re _so_ _dangerous_ … it’s gonna come alive and eat my brains, huh?”

“If they eat brains, then I think you’re more than safe, Vince.”

“Whoa now, sass readings are reaching critical levels!”

You watched as he dug around within his backpack for a few moments, and then chuckled in victory once he pulled two noisemakers from within its depths. He immediately placed the plastic end of one of them between his lips, a smart-ass grin spread across them as he playfully blew into it and made the end tickle your nose. You immediately rubbed at it, then stuck out your tongue as you took your noise maker from his hand and placed it between your lips. You gave it several small puffs, which made you giggle, and then flopped backwards onto the sheets of your bed. Vincent soon followed your lead, the two of you staring at each other while gently blowing on the noisemakers you both had in your mouths.

Eventually, you took your noisemaker and placed it on the bed, then sighed softly as you turned your attention to the ceiling. It was nice to spend the evening with him like this, since you hadn’t been able to do such a thing in quite some time. Sure, you had spent days with him and his other guy friends, but it certainly wasn’t the same as spending time alone with him; the two of you could talk about anything in the world, and he would never judge you for any of it. A smile came to your lips, just from the feeling of spending time with your best friend, and you gave a soft sigh as you closed your eyes for a moment.

“Hey, what’s this? _Hidden Beauty_?”

Your heart suddenly began to race within your chest, and you hastily sat up and cleared your throat—it was too late to try and convince him not to look at it, since he was already beginning to scan through the various photos that rested upon each of the pages. He stayed quiet for a majority of the time he was looking through it, and once he came to the last photograph within the album, a smile spread across his face and he turned his attention to you.

“Oh my God, ( ** _Name_** )! You two look so nice here! When did he give you this?”

You wanted to lie. You truly did. How could you tell Vincent that you had gone to Stefano’s place for a nice dinner after rejecting his offer to go to the club on that very same evening? However, you inhaled a deep breath and then absentmindedly began to draw small circles in the sheets of your bed as you parted your lips to give him the truthful answer.

“He gave it to me on Christmas Eve... he had invited me over for dinner, so I accepted.”

Vincent stared at you for a little while, and then hummed softly in acknowledgment before returning his attention to the book that he had within his hands. You felt your heart drop—he was upset at you, wasn’t he? You dropped your gaze to the disheveled sheets of your bed, the silence between the two of you only making you feel worse than you already did. You heard a thump from beside you, and you assumed that Vincent had set the book down upon the bedside table; when you finally glanced over at him to see how upset he seemed, you were surprised to see a comforting smile spread across his lips. He scooted across the bed to come to rest in front of you, and then gently placed a hand upon your shoulder.

“( ** _Name_** ), look at my face. Do I look upset to you? I promise you that I’m not, okay? In fact, I’m actually really glad that you went to dinner with him. But, you know me… I expect all the details, now!”

You felt him run his thumbs underneath your eyes, which had accumulated a small pool of unshed tears within them. You gave a half-hearted laugh, allowing a small smile to come to your lips as he moved his hands away from your face. Now knowing that your best friend desired all of the details of your Christmas Eve, you began to retell what you could recall of the night, which included the meal he had made, the candlelit dinner that the two of you had shared, the rather interesting conversation you had during that dinner, (you made sure to make the conversation explanation as vague as possible, since you knew Stefano had entrusted his personal information to you and you alone) and finally the moment when he had given you your photo album as a gift.

“Whoa, whoa, back up. You said that he asked you if you’d ever had the desire to be with someone?”

“Yeah, but-“

“( ** _Name_** )… he totally likes you.”

You stared at the man sitting in front of you, the grin upon his lips only growing as he saw the confused and rather embarrassed expression beginning to form upon your face. He gave a laugh, situating himself so that his legs were crossed and he was more comfortable before speaking once more.

“( ** _Name_** ), c’mon… no dude invites a woman over to a dinner, _a candlelit dinner_ , no less, asks her a question like that, and gives her a rather intimate gift like that book without having some kind of feelings for her.”

“Vince, even if he did have feelings for me, we’ve only known each other for a little bit over a month. That’s way too early to even-“

“No, no… look.”

Vincent gave a grunt as he unlocked his legs from their current position, and then scooted himself even closer to you upon your bed. The look upon his face told you everything that you needed to know: he was going to lecture you about what you had just said. You had seen this look a million times before, but his lectures were never ones that made you upset in the end. In fact, you figured you were in need of one right now more than ever—after all, you were rather confused about the entire situation.

“Let me ask you something, okay? Whenever you’re with him, do you get this light, fluttery feeling in your chest? Whenever you text him, do you smile whenever you open your phone, even if the message doesn’t entirely warrant a smile?”

“…yes.”

“I think you like him, ( ** _Name_** ). You may not want to admit it, but I think you do. Who the hell cares how early it is, huh? Who are they to dictate how you feel about someone based on time alone? I’m not saying you should waltz up to him tomorrow and go “hey babe, we should hook up,” but if he truly makes you happy, you can’t miss this chance. Before you know it, he might be gone. And, trust me… losing someone because you were too scared to admit your feelings for them hurts worse than anything else.”

You saw a pained and sorrowful smile come across his lips, and you gave a quiet sigh before reaching your hand up and tenderly ruffling his hair. You made a comment about how he was always right about things like this, which ended up eliciting a laugh from him—you didn’t like seeing your normally peppy and upbeat best friend upset like that, so making light of the situation was an absolute must right now. You turned your attention to your phone, which was sitting upon the bed and counting down the seconds to the new year; you gasped when you saw that there were only twenty-two seconds left in the year of 2015, and you grabbed Vincent’s noisemaker and shoved it between his lips.

“I can’t believe we almost missed the new year! Get ready to blow on that thing as hard as you can, cause it’s gonna be a good year this time, Vince.”

You saw the corners of his lips curl upwards into a smile, and he gave a gentle puff of breath to show that he was ready. You grinned as you placed the plastic end of your noisemaker in-between your lips, and then looked down at the screen of your phone. The ten-second countdown had begun.

  1. 9\. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.



A shower of confetti rained down across your phone screen, followed by several pixelated fireworks that exploded in various places once the timer hit zero. You inhaled deeply, then blew as hard as you could into the noisemaker—a quaint, fun symbol of the new year, and hopefully, a better one. When you had blown so hard that your cheeks had turned a slight shade of red, you began to giggle happily; so much so that the noisemaker fell from your lips and onto the sheets of your bed. You wrapped your arms tightly around Vincent, a content sigh passing your lips as you enjoyed the feeling of his embrace.

However, your embrace didn’t last long. You heard your phone ding with a notification that you knew meant you had a new email, and you glanced down at the screen to see the name of the sender: Matt Hades, your boss, and owner of the Krimson Post. You felt your eyebrows furrow upon reading his name, seeing as how you never received any emails from him unless it was something of severe importance. You swiped down and pressed the notification to read what he had sent, and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach whenever you did.

“ _Meet me in my office tomorrow at 10 A.M. We have a serious matter to discuss_.”

=2=

 ** Current Time ** : January 12th, 2016

“I can’t believe this, Vincent… I honestly can’t believe this. It’s bad enough that I had to be in the same room with him to discuss what happened at the gallery that night, but then he goes and writes a goddamn article about it.”

You threw the newspaper, which had an article titled “ _Krimson Critic Suspended_ ,” down upon the bar, which Vincent proceeded to read and scoff quietly at. He rubbed his cloth along the inside of the glass he was currently cleaning, and you laid your forehead down against the smooth wood of the bar as you exhaled deeply; you honestly felt like breaking down and sobbing right now, and it took everything you had to keep from doing just that. Not only had you been made a fool of in front of your boss, but now the entire city knew about the incident that unfolded between you and James King thanks to this article he had written about it. You felt a hand gently pat the top of your head, and you glanced up to see that Vincent was attempting to comfort you.

“Screw him, honestly. He’s a jackass, you know? Everyone only likes him because of the insane amount of money that he has. That’s one of the only reasons that Hades hired him to work for the Post. It gave him some new shit to brag about.”

“Yeah, screw him, but it’s because of him that I got suspended without pay for three weeks. All because I defended Stefano and apparently made a mockery of both King and the entire company of the Post.”

Upon finishing your sentence, you turned your attention to the front door of the bar—this was a horrible mistake. Your chest tightened as none other than Mr. King strolled through the entryway, a pompous chortle leaving his lips as he laughed as whatever horrendous joke one of his two male colleagues had spoken before they entered. You noticed that he shot a glance in your direction, only to have a snobby, victorious grin spread across his lips as he took a seat at one of the empty booths against the wall.

“( ** _Name_** )… ( ** _Name_** ), don’t do anything rash. You could get in trouble again…”

You heard Vincent speaking, but you couldn’t take your gaze off the wrinkled, half-bald man speaking with his goons. Anger was boiling within your body, and you curled your fingers into the palm of your hand so hard that you unknowingly pierced your skin with your nails. You were itching to confront him, even if that was giving him exactly what he wanted. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from King, your eyes instead landing upon the dark, wooden surface of the bar in front of you. You had to keep yourself calm. You couldn’t afford another visit to Hades’ office, especially when you were treading on thin ice already.

You grabbed your drink, which you had barely touched since you arrived at the bar since you had arrived there, and took several large sips from it in an effort to fix your mind on something else. However, no matter how hard you tried, your mind had honed in on the conversation that King was having with his colleagues, and you couldn’t tear it away.

“Honestly, it’s no surprise she’d end up here. Where else would she go after being called out on her wrongs? Drinking away her sorrows, I suppose… women truly are such emotional creatures.”

That was it. The cage that had previously contained all your anger had been torn apart within you, and you slammed your glass down upon the countertop as you threw yourself off of your stool. You heard Vincent whisper your name harshly, and you felt him desperately attempt to grab your shirt, but he didn’t get a good enough grip before you were out of his reach.

“Alright, James. You have something against me? Is that it? You want to talk about how I come here after being called out, huh? Don’t be such a goddamn hypocrite—you went to Hades because you couldn’t stand the act that I called you out in front of everyone for the shit you put me through, and how unprofessional you were acting.”

You stormed over to his table, and you didn’t even flinch when he and his goons rose to their feet. The rest of the bar was dead silent now, and you could feel all the eyes upon you as you stood your ground against the man who had wronged you for the last time. You were done being silent against him.

“Tell me what your problem is with me, James. Does seeing me fail and tormenting me about my opinion somehow help get you off at night? Because I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you acting all high and mighty—strutting around like you own the whole damn world. It took me years to get where I am now, and what did it take you? Some of daddy’s money?”

The two of you were practically at each other’s necks at this point, the two of you glaring at one another between the few inches that separated you. You could feel his angered breath upon your skin, and you enjoyed every moment of it. You were finally speaking your mind directly to him—not for Stefano this time, but for you. With every moment that passed, the urge to throw your fist right into his cheek grew stronger; you knew you had to contain yourself, however, and you dug your nails harder into the skin of your palms in a desperate attempt to keep yourself in check. Finally, King responded.

“Need I remind you that it was _you_ who started this war, Ms. ( ** _Last Name_** )… not me. By openly mocking the critics of Krimson City in your article, you opened the gateway wide open for repercussion.”

“Repercussion?”

The voice that came from behind you surprised you, and both you and King turned your attention to the agitated face of Vincent, who was steadily making his way out from behind the bar and to your side.

“Repercussion isn’t banding together with all the other critics to send her hateful messages. Repercussion isn’t threatening to end her career all because a _critic_ couldn’t take _criticism_. Do you know how upset she was while all of you laughed away and felt proud of yourselves for throwing nothing but shit her way? No, you don’t even care about that, you pompous jackass.”

After staring in disbelief at your best friend for a few moments, you turned your attention to King, who was taken aback by the words Vincent had spoken. He cleared his throat, and then noticed all the whispers that had begun to circulate around the bar.

“ _Did he really do all that just because he was criticized? That’s pretty sad…”_

_“God, I heard he was petty, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”_

_“No wonder no one likes him.”_

King gave a quiet growl upon hearing this, and then cleared his throat and attempted to regain his pompous stature. He gave an egotistical smile, and then took out his phone and unlocked it.

“I demand the number of the owner of this establishment. I’m filing a complaint against you, seeing as you’re a worker here.”

Vincent cocked his eyebrow, but shrugged his shoulders and began to speak a phone number in response to King’s request. You watched as King punched each of the numbers into his phone, and upon completing it, brought the phone to his ear. You watched the color drain from his face as Vincent’s phone began to ring within his pocket, and your best friend answered it with a triumphant smile upon his lips.

“I _am_ the owner. Now, get out of my establishment.”

King huffed in annoyance, whispered what sounded like some form of swear underneath his breath, and then ordered his cronies to follow him out of the front door. Upon leaving, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving the entire bar in silence once more. However, the silence soon broke into a roar of jeers and applause, which Vincent chuckled quietly to as he put his phone back into his pocket. You gave him a questioning grin, and he flushed slightly before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah, uh… I should have said something sooner. My boss officially passed the bar on to me last week. It’s mine now.”

Before you could respond however, Vincent took notice of the red droplets that were steadily dripping from the ends of your fingers. He reached down and grabbed your hands gently, only to see that you had tore open the skin with your nails during the confrontation with King. He sighed quietly as he gave a shake of his head, then began to lead you towards the back room of the bar.

“C’mon, Ms. Troublemaker. Lets get you bandaged up.”

=2=

 ** Current Time ** : March 9th, 2016

[ **Vinny** ]: _Did you hear that good ol’ King went missing? Apparently the KPD doesn’t know whether his disappearance is correlated to those models who keep going missing, or some personal vendetta someone had with him. I wouldn’t doubt someone had something personal against him, considering how much of a dick he was to literally everyone._

[ **Me** ]: _Yeah. I actually found out about it because some cops came to my apartment and questioned me about it. It was quite the wake up call, let me tell you._

[ **Vinny** ]: _Pfft, that’s how I found out about it, too. After all, we had that argument a few months back, remember? I guess that kind of put us in the frontlines for questioning._

[ **Me** ]: _Oh yeah, how could I ever forget that day? Anyway, I gotta go, okay? I’m about to head up to Stefano’s apartment._ _I didn’t tell him I was coming over, so it’s going to be a surprise_.

[ **Vinny** ]: _God, just seal the damn deal already, woman! You’ve been going over there like three times a week for the past few months!  But, if you do seal the deal… remember to be safe~_

[ **Me** ]: _Ha ha, very funny. TTYL, Vince._

You locked your phone and placed it into your pocket as you stepped into the elevator, your forefinger pressing gently against the ever-familiar button that was labeled “PH.” You began to hum softly to yourself as you rocked back and forth upon your feet, then smiled when you heard the ding to express that you had arrived at your proper floor. You stepped out into the hallway, only to have someone dash right into your shoulder as they hurried past you.

“Oh, oh! I’m so sorry! I apologize!”

You hissed as you rubbed your shoulder, your eyebrows knit together in both pain and irritation as you glanced at the well-dressed woman that was giving you an embarrassed smile from behind the closing doors of the elevator. Though you only saw her for a moment, her features were crystalline within your mind—those bright, emerald green eyes that looked as though they could seduce any man who looked their way, the silky, chestnut-blonde hair atop her head tied back into a ballet bun with a desperately elaborate hair stick poking through it to hold it in place, and the crimson-red dress cascading down the curves of her body to cover her Mary-Jane clad feet. It was only after you realized that you remembered every detail about someone you only saw for a split second that you felt your heart beating against your ribcage, and realized that you were trembling slightly; you knew exactly what was going on, now. You were jealous.

Who was this woman, and what had she been doing inside of Stefano’s studio? Surely they weren’t—no. No, no… Stefano wouldn’t do anything like that. You grit your teeth as you began to make your way hastily down the hall, a deep exhale passing your lips as you rapped your fist several times upon Stefano’s door. You weren’t about to waste any time to see him or speak with him now, especially after seeing that woman leaving his studio. You just had to know who she was, and what she had been doing there. It didn’t take long for Stefano to open the door, a look of mild confusion upon his face as he saw you.

“( ** _Name_** )? I wasn’t expecting you today—what brings you here?”

As he always did, Stefano pressed his back against the door to allow you room to pass into his studio, and you did just that (albeit with quite a bit more haste than you normally had). You looked around his studio, seeing if anything at all seemed out of place or out of the ordinary. It was then that you noticed his photography lights illuminating the curved wall of his studio that you gave a quiet sigh; it would seem that the woman you had run into on the way down the hall was nothing more than Stefano’s newest model, and that calmed your nerves slightly.

“I uh… I just wanted to come over and see you today, that’s all. Thought I’d pay you a surprise visit.”

“Ah, well that explains it. Might I offer you something to drink?”

“No, no… thank you, but I’m fine.”

You walked across the studio to take a seat upon the couch, your thumbs absentmindedly playing chase with one another—though you had some form of reassurance that the woman you had seen was only another model for the photographer, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of jealousy from your mind. Your heart was still beating roughly within your chest, and it felt as though it would explode if it continued on like this. You were drawn back into reality when you felt the couch shift slightly, and you turned your gaze to Stefano, who was now seated upon the cushion to your left.

“Something seems amiss, _mia cara_. You aren’t acting like your normal self.”

“Hmm… so you noticed, huh?”

You gave him the faintest of smiles, your mind now tussling with the thought of perhaps admitting your feelings for him. There was no arguing it anymore; you had fallen hopelessly in love with the obscure photographer, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to admit it or not. After all, you had only known him for a few months—nearly four, to be exact. However, after much tussling around with various thoughts, your mind decided to pull a memory from within its archives that spurred you forward.

_‘And, trust me… losing someone because you were too scared to admit your feelings for them hurts worse than anything else.’_

You inhaled deeply, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to say. Should anything negative come of this, then you would face the consequences. You swallowed hard, gathered your courage one last time, then parted your lips to speak.

“Stefano, I need you to listen to me. Please don’t say anything… I just need you to listen.”

The photographer cocked his eyebrow at this, but gave a slow nod of his head to show that he understood. This gave you a tiny bit of reassurance, and made speaking your next words to him a bit easier.

“For years, I’ve followed you and your art—I followed you relentlessly because you were talented, bold, and you dared to go against societal norms. I honestly never dreamed that I would meet you that night in the bar, or that we’d have the relationship that we do today, y’know? I-I just…”

Your words got caught in your throat as your eyes began to become misty with tears. You clenched your right hand a bit in order to steady yourself, but it didn’t seem to help; why were you getting choked up? Was it because you were afraid that speaking your feelings for him would damage the relationship that you already had? Were you just too embarrassed? Perhaps you were afraid of the possibility of rejection? You gulped down the knot in your throat, forcing yourself to move past it as partially-broken words continued to flow past your lips.

“W-what I’m trying to say, is that… over the past few m-months, I’ve developed… feelings for you. Feelings that are more than just platonic. Now I know that we’ve only known each other for a small period of time, but I just don’t want to lose the chance of telling you before someone else steals you away! G-God, I’m such an idiot… I’m sorry…”

You bowed your head as clasped your hands together, gripping each of them roughly as you grit your teeth. You heard Stefano give a very quiet hum, most likely as he contemplated the words that had just left your lips, and this only made the tightness in your chest even worse. Now that you had spoken your mind, you were drowning in a sea of regret—you had heard far too many stories of people who’s friendships were never the same after romantic feelings had been admitted, and that was what you fear most right now. What if Stefano no longer saw you in the same light that he had been seeing you in all this time?

“I take it this confession was brought on by the woman you saw leaving here? She is nothing more than another figure I use for modeling, I assure you.”

You brought your sleeve across your eyes, a soft sniffle leaving you as you hastily attempted to regain your composure. You hated letting people see you become emotional, and that was especially true around Stefano. You cleared your throat, your body finally relaxing a bit upon realizing the words that the photographer had spoken—all that worrying _had_ been for nothing after all. Which also meant… your confession was unnecessary, and you had made a fool of yourself for nothing.

“Well… I apologize for both the emotional outburst, and the… uh… whatever I said. I must look like a total idiot now, and I’m sorry for causing you any distress.”

“Distress? My dear ( ** _Name_** ), the last thing you have caused me is any form of distress. I take it you remember the question I presented to you upon the night we partook in dinner together, yes?”

You gave a small nod of your head in response to his question, and this seemed to please him as the corners of his lips curled into the lightest of smiles.

“I imposed such a question upon you because I myself was beginning to wonder if I had finally found another that I could connect with. After all, I did say that I could only form such a bond with another who could enjoy my artwork as much as I, did I not?”

He reached a gloved hand over, his touch as gentle as the brush of a feather as he took your hand within his own and brought your knuckles to his lips. Upon feeling this, your heart gave a gentle flutter within your chest, and you couldn’t help the grin that spread upon your lips. Though you fervently attempted to hide it by turning your head away from him, this meager attempt to conceal your embarrassment lasted only a short period of time before your gaze was returned back upon the raven-haired man. You swallowed as you felt his lips come to rest upon your forehead, your heart now doing summersaults as embarrassment continued to consume your entire being.

This was the first time such an intimate moment had been shared between the two of you, and it was quite exciting in all honesty. You felt as giddy as a young schoolgirl who finally managed to be noticed by their longtime crush, and as you felt Stefano continue to shower your forehead and cheeks in slow, tender kisses, you couldn’t contain the childish giggles that left your lips. This was all so new—you hadn’t been shown this type of affection at all, but it was something that you could continue to grow accustomed to. You felt the man place one final kiss upon your cheek, his hand still maintaining a gentle grip upon your own as he moved back from you.

“Forgive me if my actions were too much. I wouldn’t dare go beyond what you deemed appropriate.”

“No, no, it wasn’t too much at all, Stefano. It made me feel much better, so… thank you.”

You watched as he gave a slow nod, and in an effort to change the subject (mostly due to the overwhelming amount of embarrassment you were currently suffering from) you cleared your throat as you noticed that his camera was sitting upon the countertop.

“Oh yeah, have you tried out your new lens yet?”

“Ah, I have yet to do so! I’ve been waiting for just the right moment to use it; inspiration has been rather fleeting as of late, but I have finally found it once more. I’ll be sure to show you any pictures worthy of your beautiful gaze, _mia cara_.”

=2=

 ** Current Time:  ** March 15th, 2016

“The bird of inspiration is a fickle thing, really… it only comes about when the fruits of imagination are ripe, then vanishes once more.”

The voice resounded throughout the pitch-black room, only to make the older man’s heart pick up within his chest. This was the first time he had heard a voice in several days, but it certainly wasn’t the voice of someone whom had come to rescue him. This was a voice he had heard before—the voice that he had heard upon being stolen away from his own home. How long had it been since he had seen the light of day? It certainly wasn’t a few days. Weeks, perhaps? The only thing that he knew was that this voice brought pain, and it wasn’t something he was sure he could tolerate much longer.

“I’ve given you more than enough time to reflect upon your thoughts, no? Have you figured out who I am yet, hmm?”

The man said nothing in reply, the only noise leaving his body being the raspy breaths that he took in through his mouth and exhaled through his nose. He cringed as a bright flash of light filled his vision, and for a moment, he could see a faint outline of the man whom had captured him. The hair over the eye, the lean, suit-clad body, the Italian accent, and now… the camera. He leaned his head back against the chair he was currently bound to, a deep, raspy exhale leaving his moisture-barren lips as he closed his eyes. All he could do was give a half-hearted laugh.

“Stefano Valentini… honestly… I’m ashamed of myself for not realizing who my kidnapper was sooner… but, you know, it makes more sense now. I always knew you were insane, but this takes it to a whole other-“

King stopped as he felt the blade of a knife press against the center of his neck, a choked gasp leaving his throat as his skin prickled at the feeling of cold metal. For a second, he believed he could see the lone, teal eye of the photographer, but there was no light to be found within this room. It must have just been his imagination. Perhaps he, too, was beginning to lose his sanity.

“Don’t fret, for I have much more in store for you than a quick cut to the throat. You must suffer… you must suffer as she did.”

“S-she? Who the hell is _she_?”

King swallowed hard, the blade of the knife moving only slightly as he did so. He could feel something trickle down the side of his neck, and he knew immediately was it was. When he finally felt the blade be removed from his throat, he gave a quiet exhale of relief—his tormenter wasn’t going to take his life yet.

“Do not play coy with me. Use what little of a brain you possess and come to that conclusion yourself.”

“…( ** _Name_** ). I knew something was going on between the two of you. For God’s sake man, is this truly something to kill me over?”

King’s attention was drawn downward upon feeling something land upon his lap, and his eyes widened upon seeing the article he had written about your suspension. Once again, he grimaced as light suddenly flooded the room—his own shadow was cast wide across the wall in front of him as the photography light placed directly behind him warmed his back, the calm face of his kidnapper finally coming into view. Feeling panic invade his very being, King’s eyes darted around the room, finally coming to rest upon the pool of dried blood that rested around the legs of his chair. Dear God… had he truly bled that much since arriving here?

“Indeed it is. You see, I do not take kindly to those who insult me or my artwork. Typically, I endure this hatred and continue forward. However, when someone dares make a fool of someone who has earned my rarely-given trust… I do not tolerate it.”

King felt a sudden sting on his right arm, a cry of pain escaping his lips as another bright flash of light immediately followed. He hissed through his clenched teeth, his gaze falling to the wall of crimson now steadily cascading down his skin. Another cry of pain echoed throughout the small room as a deep gash appeared upon King’s left arm as well, the wall of crimson followed only by another flash from Stefano’s camera.

“If you’re going to kill me, just kill me!”

“Stop complaining, dammit! Your constant moaning is beginning to irk me.”

King was taken aback by the sudden bark of irritation that Stefano had emitted. He had never seen, nor heard, of the photographer having an irritable side, and that terrified him to his very core. He bit his tongue within his mouth, swallowing hard once more as the gentle dripping of his own blood pooling onto the floor filled his ears.

“I must say, the lens ( ** _Name_** ) gifted me is performing beautifully. It truly captures the authentic feel of your blood…”

“Authentic feel? That’s because my blood _is_ authentic, you piece of sh-“

The pain registered for only a moment within King’s mind, the salty taste of blood filling his mouth as he immediately dropped his lower jaw and allowed the dark substance to drip onto the floor. Again, another flash of light blinded him momentarily as Stefano captured his current predicament on film, and he crouched down in front of the now-weeping man still tied helplessly to his chair.

“Apparently you failed to understand my command. Now… cease your incessant whining, you ill-bred philistine.”

Stefano gave the bleeding man a hard glare, his gaze falling upon the half-cut tongue that was currently dangling just past King’s teeth. One severed lingual artery wasn’t enough to kill him, but the mess was proving to be quite the predicament. He would have avoided such a thing, but he truly couldn’t stand it when his victims wouldn’t stay quiet. He grunted softly as he rose upright once more, being careful to pace around the ever-growing pool of partially-coagulated blood that was surrounding King’s chair—after all, these were one of his favorite pairs of shoes. He wouldn’t want to get this man’s filth all over them.

“I truly must thank ( ** _Name_** ) whenever I see her again… this lens is far superior to the one I had before it, and it takes the most exquisite photographs. If only I had it before I had created some of my other masterpieces…”

By this point, King was having a hard time focusing on the world around him. A steady stream of blood still oozed from the dangling, half-cut muscle within his mouth, and his eyes could only watch as the crimson droplets fell from his jaw into the puddle beneath his chair. This was certainly the end for him, and he knew there would be no getting out of it. He turned his attention to Stefano, who was beginning to fade in and out of a blurry form due to his growing exhaustion and blood loss, then exhaled a long breath through his nose as he closed his eyes—he wanted rest more than anything else at this point, even if that meant leaving this life behind as a consequence of it. However, this was denied as his head was forcibly lifted back, and the blade of Stefano’s knife was once more pressed against the middle of his throat.

“You’re a fool if you believe I’ll allow your death so soon; we still have more photography to do, Mr. King. Death will not give you grace until I’ve created a masterpiece of you.”

=2=

Author’s Note (1): Apologies for the long delay with this chapter. College has been killing me the past few weeks.

Author’s Note (2): Several time-skips in this chapter. Apologies if the dates aren’t clear, but I attempted to format it in a way that was readable.

Author’s Note (3): Yay, we finally have an established relationship!

Author’s Note (4): Finally getting to the part of the story where everything is going to get a bit darker. A lot of fluff and whatnot in the beginning chapters for the sake of relationship building, but that’s all going to change now. Can’t have everything be fluffy when Stefano is involved.

Author’s Note (5): King is officially the only character I have ever created in a fanfiction series that I have wanted to punch in the face since day one. Well, he got what he deserved thanks to protective Stefano.

Author’s Note (6): Confessions are tedious to write, honestly. It’s difficult not to make them sound cliché, which is something I hate doing in writing. So, yes, Reader gets misty-eyed and a bit emotional, but that doesn’t mean she wears her heart on her shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7: When Times Are Simple

**Pairing:**   _Stefano Valentini x Reader/Female Protagonist (18+)_

 **Warnings:**   _Innuendos, Mild Language_

**Current Time** _: April 17 th, 2016_

_=2=_

[ **Vinny** ]: _Holy shit, ( **Name** ). Did you see the news?_

[ **Me** ]: _What? You know I don’t really watch the news, Vince. Is something going on?_

[ **Vinny** ]: _Just turn it on. You’ll see exactly what I’m talking about._

You hummed thoughtfully as you pressed your lips together, your thumbs hanging over the various letters situated at the bottom of your screen as you contemplated what he could have possibly been going on about. You clicked your tongue as you made your way across the wooden floor of your apartment, tossing your phone onto the cushion beside you as you sat down upon the couch and fumbled around with the remote control for a moment to switch the television on. You brought your cheek to rest upon your fist as you flipped through several local channels, then finally stopped as the large letters of “KNN” crossed the screen.

“…long-time critic of the Krimson Post, was found dead late last night by one of the local KPD officers patrolling the area around midnight yesterday evening.”

Your brows immediately knit together as you stared at the screen in front of you. Though you hadn’t heard the name, you knew that they were speaking about King—he was the only critic that was missing as far as you knew, and certainly the only one that had vanished from the Krimson Post. You sat up straight as you continued to listen to the news, then watched as the reporter switched over to a video of the officer who found the unfortunate victim.

“Finding another victim in our city like this never gets any easier. The family has been notified, and the body has been delivered successfully to the morgue. In light of this situation, we at the KPD highly urge the public to avoid traveling through the city unaccompanied at night, and be cautious during the daylight hours.”

“Can you provide any information on whether or not the crime correlates with the abductions and murders of the models over the past several years?”

“As of right now, we see no clear correlation between the two. The sheer brutality displayed in the wounds of the current victim greatly contrast the intricate and delicate wounds displayed in the previous abduction victims.”

You pressed your thumb down on the mute button to bring silence to your apartment once more, but you couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was settling in the pit of your stomach. You had never liked King, and you certainly held a high amount of animosity towards him, but you never wanted him to end up like _this_. You placed the remote down upon the table in front of you, swallowing hard as you digested the fact that King was gone—murdered by the brutal hands of someone who was likely still roaming the city. You reached over and grabbed your phone, opening up your text messages to finally respond to Vincent.

[ **Me** ]: _Vince… can you come over to my place, please?_

[ **Vinny** ]: _Be there in five minutes._

=2=

“I honestly don’t know how to feel, Vincent. I know I hated the guy, but knowing that he died like _that_? That’s just…”

“Mhm. He was a dick, especially to you, but I’m not sure how to feel, either.”

You felt Vincent’s hand come to rest upon your shoulder in an effort to comfort you, and this was something that you greatly appreciated. Hell, the fact that he immediately rushed to your side when you needed him was something that you appreciated more than anything else. You heard Vincent clear his throat, and then felt a finger poke into the side of your cheek. You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you noticed the curious smile that was now plastered across his face.

“So… just to get your mind off things, let’s talk about something I _know_ you like. How are you and Steffy-boy doing?”

“Is that _really_ your nickname for him? God, you’re hopeless, Vince. We’re doing just fine. He’s been in quite the mood recently, though. A _good mood_ , before you go worrying about it.”

You had to make sure that you specified this for Vincent, seeing as how he would, quite literally, fight someone who harmed you in any way. You heard him give a hum of acknowledgment, and he leaned back against the head of the couch as he got comfortable.

“Good. So… what all have you two done together, huh?”

“We mostly just spent time at each other’s places, honestly. I go over to his studio, and he comes over here. He doesn’t like going out to public places, and I don’t blame him one bit. He typically makes dinner for both of us, and we just… hang out, I guess.”

“God, you’re so boring! You gotta spice things up a little!”

He gently punched your arm, which made you roll your eyes. You weren’t one for over-the-top dates, and you really enjoyed alone time with Stefano more than anything else. Besides, the two of you were still new to the whole romance scene, so you were attempting to figure everything out on your own terms. Though you wouldn’t mention this to Vincent unless he asked, you and Stefano still had yet to share a kiss with one another; the most he had done was provide kisses to your hands or forehead, sometimes your cheeks. You weren’t entirely sure why he was so reluctant to share a kiss with you, but perhaps he just has several walls you had to break down before he was comfortable enough. You knew so much about him, yet there was still a large portion of him as a person that remained an enigma to you.

“Well, he’s coming over tonight anyway, so we’ll see what happens.”

“He’s _coming over_? That’s great! Maybe I can stay and-“

“Ah-ah, I don’t think so.”

Your faster-than-intended response made a grin slither across Vincent’s lips, and he chuckled quietly to himself. This made your cheeks flush red, and you furrowed your eyebrows as you shoved his shoulder with the palm of your hand.

“Hey! What are you chuckling that that for, huh? God, everything is always so perverted to you…”

“I’m your best friend, ( ** _Name_** ). This is my job.”

He hopped up from his previous resting place upon your couch, and then gave an extremely over-exaggerated bow at his waist before glancing at you through several stray strands of hair that fluttered down over his eyes. You gave him a slightly amused look, the corner of your lip turned up in a small smile as you shook your head—there truly was no helping that man, but you certainly wouldn’t have him any other way. You watched as Vincent practically skipped over to the doorway that led into your room, and this caused you to hastily rise to your feet and hurry after him. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but you had a few ideas roaming through your mind.

When you finally caught sight of him again, you saw him fluffing your pillows, and you rolled your eyes as he shot you that stupid grin of his that always managed to bring a smile to your own face. You grabbed his arm and, quite literally, dragged him out of your room, only to have him whine about how he was “only getting your bed ready for use later that evening.” You gave a playful scoff at his words, and then stopped when you heard four gentle knocks upon the door of your apartment. You glanced down at your watch, seeing that it was 6:48 in the evening; Stefano had arrived a bit earlier than you thought he would, and you most certainly weren’t ready.

“Ah, shit. Come on, Vince, out.”

“But-“

“Out, out!”

He pursed his lower lip at you over his shoulder as you shoved him towards the front door, barely managing to grab his coat and toss it on over his body before you opened the door for him to leave. You were greeted by Stefano, who immediately cocked his eyebrow upon seeing Vincent in front of him. You poked your head out from behind Vincent’s arm, and then cleared your throat as you stepped beside him as to look somewhat less awkward. God, this was already so embarrassing.

“Good evening, _mia cara_.”

Before you could even respond to Stefano, Vincent grinned and offered an outstretched hand for your partner to take in greeting. Stefano gave your best friend a quizzical look, only to shake his hand a few moments later—it was quite clear to you that Stefano was reluctant to do so, alongside being rather confused about the whole predicament.

“Hey there, Stefano! Been a minute since I last saw you—remember me? I was the guy that asked you to walk ( ** _Name_** ) home that one night at the bar!”

You immediately saw Stefano’s expression soften, and you felt incredibly relieved upon seeing him relax a little bit.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, but I didn’t immediately recognize you; it has been quite a while since that night, after all.”

Vincent gave a nod of his head, then decided it would be best to leave you and your partner alone for the evening. He offered you a giddy goodbye, and then bounded towards the stairwell to begin making his way downwards. Once you were certain that he was gone, you exhaled deeply and stepped back from the doorway to allow Stefano inside.

“Sorry about that, Stefano. He came over earlier and I completely lost track of time.”

“Not to worry, ( ** _Name_** ). I brought dinner for us if you’re hungry.”

You watched as Stefano placed a glass container down upon the countertop in the kitchen; you had been so focused on getting Vincent out of your apartment that you hadn’t even noticed that he had brought dinner for the two of you. Before anything else could snatch your attention away, you made your way into the kitchen and grabbed two glasses from within the cupboard; you reached for the bottle of wine that sat near the wall, but stopped when you felt Stefano’s frame press against yours from behind. You couldn’t help the immediate redness that stained your cheeks, and you tilted your head so that you could get a better look at him.

“No wine tonight, _mia cara_. Perhaps water might do us some good.”

You felt his hand gently move yours away from the bottle and down upon the countertop, and he leaned down to press a very tender kiss to the side of your cheek. You couldn’t hold back the small giggle that left your lips; he made butterflies form in your stomach just from being around him, and the gentleness that he showed you never failed to make your heart flutter. You leaned back against him for a moment, then gave a small nod of your head to finally acknowledge what he had stated a few moments earlier.

“Sure. I’ll get us some, okay?”

He gave a quiet hum in response, then moved away from you and back over to the countertop to open the top of the glass container that he had brought with him. As you filled the glasses about a third of the way with ice, you inhaled the heavenly scent that was beginning to fill your apartment—it was familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it off the top of your head. Once the glasses were full of water, you wandered over beside your partner and went to take a peek into the container; your curiosity was finally satiated once you saw the noodles within covered in a creamy, white sauce. There was nearly-melted parmesan cheese sprinkled upon the top of the noodles, and flakes of parsley sprinkled upon everything to top it off.

“Did you know that this particular dish supposedly originated from a man who was trying to please his pregnant wife?”

You cocked your eyebrow as you glanced up at your partner, who had a small smile on his lips. You gave one in return, and then placed his glass down upon the counter and went to grab two plates from the cupboard on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“Is that so? I didn’t know that.”

Once you returned to Stefano’s side, you placed the plates down upon the counter and watched as Stefano, who had grabbed your pair of tongs whilst you were preoccupied with getting the dishware, began to dish up even portions for the two of you. You nearly began to drool as you saw several large wisps of steam rise up off of the food, and you eagerly took your plate once he was done dishing your portion up. He noticed how eager you were, and this made a quiet chuckle leave his lips.

“Hungry, are we? Forgive me for not arriving sooner, then.”

You immediately flushed red with embarrassment, and cleared your throat as you grabbed your glass and a fork from within the drawer to your left.

“Yeah, I’m kind of hungry. I didn’t eat much today, but that’s alright. Come into the living room and sit on the couch; we can eat in there, okay? Maybe watch a little TV or something while we eat, too.”

You hastily made your way into the living room and sat down upon the couch, placing your glass on one of the coasters that was on the table. You heard the steady sound of Stefano’s shoes pacing across the wooden floor, and then felt the couch shift as he eventually took his place on your right. Once you were certain that he was comfortable, you poked your fork into your noodles and twirled some onto it, then popped it into your mouth. As usual, Stefano’s cooking was nothing short of wonderful, and it only made your hunger grow the more you partook in it.

The TV remained off for nearly the entire time that the two of you ate, despite saying that you would turn it on for some form of entertainment. This didn’t bother you though, seeing as how you and Stefano made small talk about what had been going on in your lives during the time that the two of you were apart. Since you saw each other rather frequently, there wasn’t much to be told between either of you, save the information that Stefano had apparently been in the process of hiring a new model due to his previous one failing to show up to their scheduled photography shoots.

It was only near the end of your meal that you noticed Stefano’s grip upon his plate tighten, and his shoulders tense as a quiet hiss escaped his lips. You furrowed your brows, placing your dishware down upon the table before turning your attention to your partner. His jaw was clenched as he sucked in a breath through his teeth, and you saw him move his hand up to move his hair out of the way and cover the right side of his face. You frowned, gently taking his plate away from him and setting it down upon the table before scooting closer to him and brushing the back of your middle and forefinger against his cheek.

“Stefano… is it hurting again?”

He gave no response, but the shaky exhale that left his lips gave you all the answer that you needed. You reached down and grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before resting your head against his shoulder. Over the time that you had spent together, you had come to know that every so often, Stefano would suffer from phantom pains—they would range from mild to severe in pain, and judging by how he was acting, this one was somewhere in the middle. The most you could do was comfort him until it eventually subsided, because painkillers were ineffective against such pain, and you found that comfort helped him through it more than anything.

You felt him lightly squeeze your hand, and it made you smile slightly. After a few more moments of listening to him breathe through his teeth, you heard him inhale deeply and he leaned back against the head of the couch.

“I do apologize. Damn this phantom pain…”

“Don’t apologize when you have nothing to apologize for, Stefano. It’s alright.”

You reached up and took a gentle hold on his chin, turning his head so that he was looking in your direction. You could already see one of the scars that extended past his hair and over the bridge of his nose, and you gave a quiet sigh. You situated yourself so that you were facing him upon the couch on your knees, and you hesitated for a moment before brushing his bangs away from the right side of his face.

The first time that you had seen Stefano’s eye, or rather, what remained of it, you had been unsure about how to feel. The sheer amount of scars surrounding the socket was only a peek into what the pain might have been like when he originally lost it, and the eye itself wasn’t much more of a sight to behold, either. The flesh surrounding it had been permanently darkened, and the socket was nothing more than a dark chamber that was now devoid of anything that once resembled an eye. It was a rather horrific sight to behold when seeing it for the first time, but that feeling was slowly beginning to fade as time passed.

You tenderly ran the tips of your fingers along some of the scars, your ( ** _color_** ) eyes scanning over each and every one of them as they ran underneath your digits. You then looked over at his good eye, seeing the content look that it housed.

He was comfortable with you.

He was comfortable with you touching him, he was comfortable with you being this close to him, but most importantly, he was comfortable with _you_. This was the very first time that you didn’t feel like he had up any extra barriers around him—he didn’t flinch when you touched his scars, and he didn’t shy away from your advances like he had when you first got together. You trailed your fingers down his face until you eventually cupped his cheek within your palm, your gaze falling down to his lips for only a split second before returning to his eye. As much as your heart and mind screamed at you to close that space, you refused to do so until you knew Stefano was entirely comfortable with it. Instead, you gave a quiet sigh and leaned back away from him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“There… the pain is gone, right?”

The artist gave a nod of his head, then turned his gaze away from you. The silence that followed was awkward, and you reached behind you to absentmindedly rub at the back of your neck. It was only then that you felt Stefano grab your free hand within his own, and you immediately returned your gaze to him to see that he was staring intently at you; he exhaled deeply, then brought your hand up to his lips and placed a kiss upon your knuckles.

“Don’t think that your actions went unnoticed, ( ** _Name_** ). I know what you desire, even if you believe that I don’t. And, believe me when I say this, _mia cara_ , I would do anything in the world for you. The world used to be my canvas, and my canvas alone. It’s taken me time, but I’ve learned that the world is no longer just my canvas, but _ours_.”

He placed another kiss upon your hand, but this time upon the back of it.

“My trust is not easily earned, yet you have earned it. I trusted you with my most prized possessions – my art – and you treated them with care and kindness. You treated me with the same compassion as well, even if that meant enduring torment to do so.”

He leaned in, his breath warming the skin of your neck as he placed a kiss upon it and sent shivers along your spine.

“You have given me your time, your love, and a gift that cost you a small fortune, even when I feel I am undeserving of such things. Your patience has been much appreciated, and I’d enjoy finally giving you what you desire, if you’d have me.”

One last kiss was placed upon your cheek when he finished his sentence, the space left between you nothing more than mere inches. You swallowed hard, seeing a newfound fire in your partner’s teal eye as he looked at you, his gaze unwavering.

“ _Sei la donna dei miei sogni_.”

Not a second after he whispered this phrase, you felt his hand come to rest on the back of your head, and he leaned in to close the extra space between the two of you. Your mind immediately responded by making you lean into him, your fingers delving into his raven-colored hair as your mind set itself on autopilot. Though the intimate moment only lasted a few moments, it felt as though it carried on for eternity—it was only once you managed to pull yourself back to reality that you realized your partner was giving you a rather curious smile.

“Be careful of my suit, _mia cara_ …”

You blinked, not quite understanding what he meant. It was only when you saw your fingers curled into his suit that you squealed and quickly retracted your hand from within the fabric. Had you really been so eager that you had attempted to tug at his suit? Try as you might, you honestly couldn’t recall becoming so eager in the few moments that you shared such an intimate kiss.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing that. I guess I must have lost myself…”

A deep chuckle came from your partner’s lips, and he leaned forward again to place a second, quick kiss to your lips before dipping down and gracing the flesh of your neck with one as well. You exhaled softly, and shuddered when you felt his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. You would have been fine, had it not been for the next words that he breathed into your ear.

“Not tonight, my love. After all… I haven’t come _prepared_ for such a thing.”

The heat immediately rushed across your cheeks, and you wrapped your arms around him as you buried your face into his shoulder. As embarrassed as you were, it made you glad that things were finally beginning to escalate a bit in your relationship, and that Stefano was finally letting down his walls around you. That was the most that you had ever wanted—him being comfortable in every sense of the word with you.

When you finally calmed down enough to be presentable again, you moved back from his shoulder and gave him a smile.

“Maybe we could watch a movie or something instead? I have a lot of horror movies if you’d like to watch one of those.”

Stefano cocked his eyebrow, but gave a nod of his head. In truth, he wasn’t one for horror movies since they rarely managed to startle him, (especially given the imbecilic teenagers that most current horror movies revolved around) but he would watch one if it pleased you. Though, he wasn’t sure if he could handle actors being as dumb as a sack of rocks like they typically were in horror films. If only they were in a scenario like that in real life—perhaps it might teach them a lesson or two.

“Oh, oh, I know! I bet you’d like The Thing. Have you ever seen it? I have both the newer one and the older one!”

“Ah, yes… I remember that film. I wouldn’t mind watching both of them. After all, the night is still young.”

“Okay, we’ll start with the older one! Let me go grab it real quick.”

Stefano watched as you hastily hopped off the couch and hurried into your bedroom, which was where you kept all of your movies hidden away in a secret stash of sorts. He gave a soft sigh and a shake of his head—you were far too innocent to know what he had done. He had planned on showing you images of his newest piece of artwork that evening, which of course were images he had taken during his tormenting of King, but perhaps he would wait until the next time the two of you met to do that. He didn’t worry about you knowing who the person in the image was; he had made sure they were unidentifiable by any means. But tonight, he wanted simply to spend time with you, even if that meant enduring horror films that were sub-par by his standards.

=2=

“I’m beginning to question whether or not assigning you to this task was a mistake.”

“Sir, please. I’ve been doing all I can to find suitable candidates for STEM, but finding ones that have few real-world connections is more difficult than it sounds.”

“I don’t accept that as a suitable answer. Now, tell me you’ve found more candidates.”

A deep sigh resounded throughout the nearly empty room, followed by the gentle fluttering of papers as they were set down upon the desk within the room. The woman leaned back against her chair, reclining slightly as she gazed down at the profiles she had located as potential suitors for being STEM candidates. She used her forefinger to brush a few stray strands of brown hair out of her face, and then tapped her forefinger upon one of the papers on the desk.

“I found one, but he’s complicated. He’s a photographer that pretty much everyone dislikes, but I’ll admit he’d make a pretty good addition to STEM if you’re looking for an artist. His name is Stefano Valentini, born in Florence, Italy.”

“You say you found one, yet there are three profiles on the desk. Explain.”

“I was getting to that, if you’d let me finish. According to my inside guys, Stefano is now in a relationship with this woman here, ( ** _First Name_** ) ( ** _Last Name_** ). She’s a smalltime critic for the Krimson Post in Krimson City, which isn’t a problem. I’d suggest recruiting both of them at the same time, but that’s where the third person comes in.”

The woman inhaled deeply, preparing herself for what she was going to say. If this operation wasn’t so underground, this would be much, much easier.

“You’re looking for candidates that won’t raise an alarm if they suddenly go missing, right? Stefano and ( ** _Name_** ) wouldn’t be much of an issue, but ( ** _Name_** )’s best friend, Vincent Colven, knows quite a large number of people who would all know if he were to go missing. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Indeed. If Stefano goes missing, ( ** _Name_** ) will know. If both ( ** _Name_** ) _and_ Stefano go missing, Vincent will know. And if we take Vincent as well, it would make quite the mess seeing as he knows quite a number of people.”

The man in the room sighed deeply, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the room as he paced around slowly. Upon circling back around to the desk, he grabbed the profile for Stefano and read over it—he would indeed make a good candidate for STEM, especially since he was in desperate need of more artistic personalities for the system. He could stage a disappearance or two when not many people paid attention to a person, but when a person was connected to a large network of people like Vincent was, it was a bit more difficult; that is, without getting his hands dirty.

“Well, while your work was less than stellar, I suppose it will do for now. You are dismissed, Kidman.”

“What are you going to do about the candidates, sir? I’m just curious.”

The man tossed the paper back down upon the desk, nearly scattering the others off of it in the process. Juli hastily scrambled to keep them from fluttering to the floor, and then shot a rather hard glance in her overseer’s direction. Her expression changed upon seeing the man giving a malice-laced grin, his eyes focused on the large room that could be seen through the window, and the STEM device that was housed within it.

“I will review the candidates and devise a plan from there. Should I deem them worthy enough for STEM, I will send out the invitations and extend a… warm welcome.”

=2=

Author’s Note (1): First and foremost, I apologize profusely for the lack of updates to this story. I’ve had a lot of big changes going on in my life, alongside a severe lack of motivation and inspiration to write anything. However, I do plan on continuing this story, and seeing it through to the end. Thank you to everyone who has waited patiently—I appreciate you guys more than you will ever know.

Author’s Note (2): _Sei la donna dei miei sogni_ = you are the woman of my dreams.

Author’s Note (3): I am a sucker for domestic life, okay? I’m enjoying it as much as I can before Union happens, since there’s going to be pretty much nothing but drama from then on if I’m following canon ideologies, which I will be.

Author’s Note (4): The end scene is a conversation/exchange between Juli Kidman and the Administrator. The invitations he mentions in the final sentence are literally the invitations that are seen in game, where the candidates for STEM are sent special invitations to partake in various tests, all of which are run by Yukiko Hoffman, who oversees the psych exam in order to judge whether a candidate is eligible to enter Union.


	8. Moving Forward

**Pairing:**   _Stefano Valentini x Reader/Female Protagonist (18+)_

 **Warnings:**   _Alcohol consumption, PTSD triggers and allusions to PTSD flashbacks_

**Current Time** _: July 4 th, 2016_

=2=

Hell.

That was truly the only word that could describe the summer months in Krimson City, where the temperatures soared well over triple digits on the worst days. With black asphalt that worsened the temperature throughout the city, and thousands of people constantly bustling around the streets and sidewalks, there truly was no escaping the heat unless one was within the sanctuary of their own home.

At least, that’s how it _normally_ would be.

You, unfortunately, were currently splayed out on your bed in nothing more than sleep shorts and a tank-top, three rotating fans pointed directly at your exhausted body in an attempt to cool you down. Your air conditioner had blown a fuse several days prior, and you were forced to endure the hellish heat of the city until the repairman could make his way over to your abode and work his magic since you were uneducated in the ways of AC repair. You gave a disgruntled moan as you shifted slightly, pinching the front of your tank-top and lifting it slightly to let air access more of your body. You were terribly hot, and on top of that, you were exhausted since you hadn’t been able to sleep properly ever since your AC unit went out.

You continued to lay there, enjoying the lukewarm breeze as much as you could manage; it wasn’t near as cold as you wanted it to be, but it was better than nothing. You shifted again, only to be startled by the sound of your phone vibrating upon your bedside table. You furrowed your eyebrows as you sat up, then rubbed your temples for a moment before grabbing your phone and opening it to see a message from Vincent.

[ **Vinny** ]: _Hey!! I have some awesome news to tell you!!_

[ **Me** ]: _Oh yeah? What’s up? Are you gonna tell me you learned how to fix AC stuff? Because that would be the best news in the world._

After hitting the small button to send your message, you locked your phone and tossed it into your disheveled sheets before flopping back down upon your bed. God, what you wouldn’t do for some actual cold air against your skin. Since waiting for Vincent to respond wasn’t all that exciting, you decided to get up and head into the kitchen—hopefully some ice wrapped in a cloth would soothe your overheated skin. You grunted as you managed to get onto your feet, slowly shuffling your way into the kitchen to grab a washcloth out of one of the drawers beside the sink. You then opened the freezer portion of your fridge, grabbed as many ice cubes as you could hold within your fist, and placed them right in the center of the washcloth. You then closed the cloth up, using a rubber band to keep it from unfurling and dropping the ice cubes everywhere.

Normally, you’d put the cloth into a plastic bag so the melting ice wouldn’t leak through the cloth and onto everything, but you were far too hot to care at this point. You placed the cloth directly onto your forehead, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you bathed in the cold that swept across your skin. You began to make your way back into your bedroom, immediately sitting back down upon your bed and grabbing your phone to see if Vincent had responded to you yet.

[ **Vinny** ]: _No, as much as I’d like to help you out with that. But in all seriousness, I want to tell you this in person! I’m super excited about it, and I gotta tell you face to face! Come to the bar? Besides… we have air conditioning here. :P_

The bar? Vincent really wanted you to go out into the blistering heat of the city? You had just gotten comfortable within your own home, but he did have a point. His bar had air conditioning, and that was honestly the most enticing thing he could have ever told you. You sighed softly, rolling your eyes before giving a small smile and typing out your response.

[ **Me** ]: _Fine, I’ll come. You better crank that AC down to 60 by the time I get there_!

You ran the cold cloth down to your cheeks, then your neck, relishing the cold one final time before rising to your feet to begin getting ready to go and see Vincent. You tossed the cloth into your bathroom sink so the water could drain properly while you were out of the house, then walked into your closet to find something to wear.

=2=

You ran the back of your hand across your forehead, mumbling quietly in disgust as you rubbed the sweat you had gathered onto the side of your shorts. You were thankful that Vincent’s bar wasn’t too terribly far away from your apartment, especially after taking the city bus, and you reached out to grab the handle of the entrance door before almost desperately pushing it open to escape the heat. You were greeted with a rush of chilled air, and you exhaled in relief as you hastily shut the door behind you to keep the cold air in, and lock the hellish heat outside where it belonged. You turned your attention to the denizens of the bar, who were few and far between at the moment—it was to be expected, both with the heat and since it was only around one in the afternoon.

You walked along the wooden floor, giving greetings to a few of the people sitting in booths that you wandered past as you made your way to the bar itself. You slipped onto the stool, happy to finally sit down and relish in the cool air in peace. However, not even ten seconds passed before a glass was placed in front of you, and you cocked your eyebrow as you glanced up to see the gleaming grin that was plastered upon Vincent’s face.

“About time you got here, ( ** _Name_** )! Thought you melted out there or something!”

“Uh-huh… honestly I was about to. It’s hotter than hell out there… thank God for your AC, Vince.”

You grabbed the glass, bringing the rim to your lips and taking several long drinks of the liquid that was housed within it. When you were done, you placed the glass back down upon the bar and sighed happily—the drink had been cold, and it tasted wonderful. It was something you had never had before though, and as you were about to ask what it was, Vincent interrupted you.

“Rum Sunset, on the house. Figured you could use somethin’ a bit cold, so I made it up for whenever you got here.”

You couldn’t help the smile that slithered across your lips, and you gave a small nod of thanks as you took yet another drink from your glass. Vincent truly was a blessing sometimes. You set your glass down once again and sighed deeply, resting your cheek upon your palm as you closed your eyes for a moment—you were incredibly tired, and this was the first time you had been able to comfortably relax in three days. When you opened your eyes again, you saw Vincent staring at you with a rather concerned look upon his face.

“You look like hell though, ( ** _Name_** ). Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just haven’t been able to sleep because of how hot it’s been in my apartment. AC went out a few days ago, and it’s been horrible in there. I’ve gotten… maybe eight hours of sleep tops in three days?”

“Holy shit, ( ** _Name_** ). I’d offer you a place to stay, but I’m actually in the process of remodeling…”

“Don’t worry about it, Vince. I honestly might ask Stefano if I can stay over at his place… it’d be the first time I’ve ever done it, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I explain what’s going on. Anyway, what were you so excited about that you called me over here, hmm? I’ve been pretty curious.”

You saw his expression lighten up again, and a smile immediately crossed his lips as he reached into his back pocket and tugged out a folded up piece of paper. He held it out to you, and you took it from his grasp and began to unfold it so that you could see what it was. Once it was in a readable condition, you began to scan over the words that were printed along the page.

“ _Dear Mr. Colven,_

_In light of your excellent performance and reviews as one of the top performing bars in Krimson City, we at Krimson Brewers Inc. would be proud to sponsor the expansion of your company in the eastern part of the city. We firmly believe that a partnership with both you and your company would be beneficial for both parties involved, and with passion, cooperation, and a view of the future, we could possibly expand even further beyond these (potential) two locations._

_Using this letter as your invitation, we personally invite you to attend a formal meeting at 2045 Westbrooke Avenue on July 6 th, at 8:30 P.M. Multiple officials of Krimson Brewers Inc. will be attending, including the founder and chairman of our company, Keith Lauram, and myself, the CEO of the company. We are incredibly excited to speak with you about this potential sponsorship and partnership, and look forward to seeing you at the meeting._

_Sincerely,_

_Y.H._ ”

Once you had finished scanning over the contents of the letter, you glanced down at the wax seal on the bottom right corner of the paper, seeing the letters “KB” imprinted in a brilliantly elegant cursive font. It took a moment for you to register exactly what was going on, but once everything clicked within your mind, a wide grin spread across your face and you turned towards your long-time best friend to see him sharing the same excited expression that you were.

“Vincent, this is amazing! Oh, congratulations! I’m so, so happy for you!”

You immediately hopped off your stool and made your way behind the bar, wrapping your arms tightly around your best friend. You heard him laugh happily, and he squeezed you tightly upon wrapping his arms around your body. He buried his face into your shoulder, and after a moment, you heard him sniff quietly; you gently moved back from him, only to see tears welling up in his eyes. You gave him a soft smile, reaching up to tenderly wipe the few tears that had managed to slide down his cheeks off his skin.

“I’m so happy for you, Vincent… I know this is what you’ve wanted ever since we were in high school. And I’ll be damned, you’re becoming the best bartender in Krimson City! This letter is proof of that!

“Y-yeah…”

He reached up and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, then sighed softly and leaned back against the bar.

“Mom always thought it was weird that I had the dream of being a bartender, but look at me now, eh? I own my own business, and now I have the huge opportunity to expand it! Thank you for staying beside me all these years and supporting me, ( **Name** ). Really… I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Ah, I dunno about that, Vince. I bet you would’ve done just fine without lil’ ol’ me around to bother you.”

“Oh shut up, you know I mean it.”

You giggled and gave him another tight hug, then leaned back and gave him the letter so that he wouldn’t lose it. You watched as he ducked down and placed it into a folder in one of the cupboards near the cash register, and you then turned your attention to your phone to look at the time, which was now 2:14 P.M.

“Oh yeah, ( ** _Name_** ), are you gonna be doing anything tonight? It is the fourth of July after all, and I know the city is planning on putting on a fireworks show over the western side of the bay. I was wondering if you’d wanna go and watch them together.”

“Hmm… I was honestly planning on going over to Stefano’s place tonight. I’ve told you about how he was in the war, right? I don’t know how well he handles fireworks, so I was going to be there for him in case he needed me.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet, ( ** _Name_** )! God, you are so damn adorable… but you’re gonna owe me for skipping out on me for your boyfriend.”

He gave you a wink, which made you roll your eyes. He was always teasing you, but you certainly wouldn’t have him any other way—his goofy personality was something that you loved about him, and having him act any other way would be foreign and, well, it just wouldn’t be him whatsoever. You heard one of the guests within the bar call out Vincent’s name, and you saw him perk up and look in their direction.

“Ah, sorry, ( ** _Name_** ). Duty calls! Hey, let me know how tonight goes. I’m gonna be by the bay and I’ll make sure to send you pictures of the fireworks!”

You watched him scurry out from behind the bar, and you smiled to yourself as you saw him begin mingling with the residents of the tavern. You could only hear portions of what they were saying, but you definitely heard them congratulate him on his potential sponsorship; apparently he had spread the news immediately, but that was just like him. He wasn’t one to keep his excitement hidden inside for very long.

You decided that now might be a good time to head over to Stefano’s, especially since you weren’t really wanting to head back to your hotter-than-Hades apartment at the moment. You grabbed your glass one final time, finishing off the drink within before placing it back upon the countertop and making your way towards the front door. As you passed by Vincent, you gently placed your hand upon his shoulder as a means of a fond farewell, and then grabbed the door handle and forced your way out into the blistering heat of Krimson City once again.

=2=

As fun as it was sitting on a bus full of sweaty, irritable people and enduring the hellish heat of the summer months, you couldn’t be happier to step into the elevator that would carry you upwards to Stefano’s suite. You eagerly pressed your forefinger against the button you had come to know intimately since meeting Stefano, then leaned against the side of the elevator as you patiently endured several stops until finally reaching the penthouse level of the building. As soon as the doors slid open, you paced down the long hallway that eventually led to the door into Stefano’s suite, and you smiled as you rapped your knuckles against the door to alert him that you were here. You waited for a moment, then tilted your head slightly when you realized that no answer had been given from within as it normally was.

You rapped your knuckles against the door once again, a bit harder this time, in case he wasn’t in the immediate area of the door. Perhaps he had gone out? After all, you hadn’t really given him much of a warning that you would be coming over today, so perhaps he had gone out and wasn’t home at the moment. You waited for a few more moments, then sighed softly as you turned your back to the door to begin making your way back down the long hallway. As you took your third step, you stopped and looked over your shoulder as you heard the lock click on Stefano’s door, and smiled when it opened to reveal the photographer standing behind it.

“Forgive me, ( ** _Name_** ). I was in my office and couldn’t quite hear the door. Please, come inside.”

You gave a nod of your head and walked past him, but not without giving him a gentle hug first, of course. He seemed to enjoy this, judging by the quiet chuckle that left his lips—the same lips which you tenderly kissed only a moment later. You walked a bit further into the suite, taking a seat upon the couch in the living room area to relax; it was only then that you noticed a new addition to the wall that was in front of the couch. A large, square-shaped frame housing a photograph you had never seen before rested upon the previously barren wall, and you stared at it for a moment to take in the details. The image itself was a close-up profile shot of someone’s jaw, presumably a male, who had several large splatters of blood dashed across his cheek. His maw was open, what looked like a severed tongue dangling uselessly from between his lips, and a steady stream of blood oozed from the tip of it towards the bottom of the photograph.

You noticed a rather large gash on his neck, not large or deep enough to kill a person, but one definitely large enough to cause heavy amounts of pain. The coloring of the image was beautiful, and the pale skin of the model contrasted perfectly with the gorgeous crimson of the blood upon the flesh. It truly was a wonder how Stefano managed to capture such amazing images, but then again, he had many, many years of experience with his profession.

“Do you like it, _mia cara_?”

You turned your attention towards Stefano, who had made his way over next to his photograph and was gazing at it almost lovingly. It never ceased to amaze you how enamored he was with his profession, but you were more than happy to support him however you possibly could in the long run with it.

“I do, Stefano. It’s really interesting that you chose to use a male model this time, though. Usually you stick to females, right?”

“ _Sì_ , but this one was a special case. He had the proper proportions I was looking for, and I simply couldn’t pass the opportunity by.”

He reached up, running his fingertips slowly along the glass-covered image. You saw a small smile cross his lips, one that obviously conveyed he was extremely proud of his work, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged on the corner of your own lips—seeing him happy made you feel happy as well, and that was something that you couldn’t change. You inhaled deeply, leaning your head back against the back of the couch as you closed your eyes slowly; you were still incredibly tired, and your body desperately craved sleep of some kind.

You heard Stefano pace across the room, eventually feeling the couch shift slightly as he took a seat beside you. You forced your eyes open once more, giving him a small, tired smile as you turned your head to give him your attention. Each time you blinked, your eyes threatened to stay closed due to your growing need for sleep, and you brought your hands up to your eyes in order to rub them; hopefully this would help you stay awake a little longer.

“Have you been resting well, _amore mio_? It seems like you’re incredibly tired today.”

“Mmm… not really. The past three days have been hell, honestly. The AC went out in my apartment, and the heat has made sleeping nearly impossible. I’m hoping the guy comes to fix it by tomorrow, but honestly, I’m not sure when he’s gonna show up. I just hope that-“

You stopped as you felt a hand come to rest on your right shoulder, then tug you downwards until your head was resting upon Stefano’s lap. This surprised you a bit, but you most certainly didn’t argue with it or resist such an action; you felt his fingers begin to tenderly run through strands of your hair, and you shuddered slightly at the feeling of it.

“You should get some well-deserved rest, _mia cara_. Don’t worry, I’ll be right here.”

You gave a soft hum in response to his words, your eyelids once again growing heavy as the pleasurable feeling of your significant other playing with your hair allowed your body to relax even further against him. You allowed your eyes to close, finally giving them the reprieve they so desperately craved after several nearly sleepless nights. You felt Stefano’s fingers trail slightly further down, carefully tracing over the muscles of your neck before running along the exposed part of your collarbone, and then following the same movements back upwards to continue messing with your hair. You thought nothing of it, a long breath leaving your lips as you fully relaxed and allowed sleep to finally claim you as its own.

=2=

When you finally opened your eyes again, it was only due to the loud explosion that resounded throughout the studio you had been resting within. You sat up slowly, another explosion echoing in your ears followed by a bright blue light illuminating the studio for only a moment—it was in this moment that you were unable to locate Stefano anywhere in the immediate area. He was no longer by your side on the couch, and you couldn’t see him in the kitchen either. You heard yet another explosion, a green light illuminating the room this time; it was then that you realized that the city had begun their firework show over the bay.

“Shit… Stefano.”

You rose to your feet, stumbling slightly due to having awoken only moments earlier, your eyes still fuzzy and adjusting to the darkness of the room. You shuffled forward as quickly as you could without losing your footing, your hand fumbling around on the wall for the light switch. One you heard it click on and light flooded the room, you squinted and gave a small groan as your eyes adjusted to the newly found light. You still couldn’t locate Stefano anywhere, but the only other areas he could potentially be were his office, which he normally kept locked, and his bedroom. You made your way over to the office door, jiggling the doorknob only to find that it was indeed locked—this reassured you that he wasn’t inside, since this particular door could only be locked from the outside.

You turned your attention to the only other room you had access to, (aside from the darkroom) which was Stefano’s bedroom. You had never been inside since he had remodeled his home only two months ago, claiming that he desired an actual bedroom to sleep in since he originally hadn’t installed one when remodeling his studio. He had never allowed you to see it, always saying that it was unsuitable for your eyes until it was completely finished, but now wasn’t the time for you to question whether or not you were allowed entry into his bedroom. You walked over to the new door near the entryway into his studio, turning the knob on the door and slowly pushing it open—light slowly illuminated the room the further the door was pushed open, and as you were about to look around the room, you noticed the mass of purple clothing curled up into a ball on the left side of the bed against the back wall.

Without so much as a hint of hesitation, you immediately paced over to the bed, crawling onto the right-hand side but being careful to leave Stefano enough room to himself in case he needed it. You turned on the small, bedside lamp that was upon Stefano’s bedside table, illuminating the whole room with a very dim, yellow glow.

“Stefano…”

“I can’t… I can’t see…”

You could hear him breathe these words through what sounded like clenched teeth, and you decided to get off the bed and instead make your way over to the left-hand side, where you knelt down in front of Stefano and saw that he was clutching both hands over his right eye.

“Do you know your name?”

The question was simple, but direct. You had seen Stefano experience phantom pains before, but you had never seen him experience an episode of PTSD this badly. You knew that you had to try and keep him rooted in the present, which was why you had asked him such a question. When he gave you no answer, you sighed quietly and asked it once more.

“Do you know your name?”

“S-Stefano. Stefano Valentini.”

“What is the date?”

Once again, he didn’t provide an answer right away. Another boom echoed throughout the studio, and you saw him flinch hard—after he did so, he released a long breath through his teeth before giving you an answer.

“August eighth, nineteen- no… J-July fourth, two-thousand sixteen.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Another boom of fireworks outside, followed by the shrill sound of another firework zipping upwards into the air. You grit your teeth as Stefano cried out in pain and curled further into his ball, his fingers desperately clutching his right eye. You hated seeing him like this, and you wished that you could just hold him tightly and help him through it, but you knew that doing so might be the worst possible thing to do for him right now.

“Stefano, do you know who I am?”

“Please… help me. It hurts…”

Hearing him nearly whimper those words made your heart throb, and you gripped the sheets of the bed tightly as you listened to him give ragged, pained breaths through his teeth. You knew that you had to help him drown out the sounds of the fireworks somehow, and you had to bring him back to the present. You rose to your feet, rushing out of the room and into Stefano’s kitchen to grab an ice cube from within the freezer. Once you had obtained it, you quickly made your way back into Stefano’s room and knelt down beside him again, carefully grabbing one of his wrists and bringing his hand away from his eye—you placed the ice cube in his hand, forcing his fingers to wrap around it and hold it tightly.

“Focus on the ice, Stefano. Focus on the ice.”

You said these words gently, hoping that he could at least make out what you were wanting him to do. You let go of his hand, and to your relief, saw that he continued to hold onto the ice rather than let it go and return to gripping his eye. You rose to your feet, walking over to Stefano’s door and shutting it in order to muffle the fireworks as much as possible. You took a towel that you found folded up on a chair near the door and stuffed it against the opening near the floor, doing whatever you could to keep the sound from entering his room. You then returned to the bed, pulling your phone out from your pocket and placing it between yourself and Stefano as you laid down beside him.

“Stefano… if you can, focus on this. You liked it when you came over to my apartment for the first time, remember?”

You turned the volume up on your phone so it would drown out the sounds of the fireworks, then turned on your music player and hoped that it would help Stefano calm down.

“ _Return to me… oh my dear, I’m so lonely…_ ”

You could still hear Stefano seething quietly in pain, his body heaving with each deep breath he took in. You had to wonder if he had to endure this every year since he lost his eye, and the fact that he had dealt with it alone all this time was heartbreaking to you. Every year, enduring the same tragedy all over again all because of some fireworks… it was something that you simply couldn’t even begin to fathom. You drew yourself out of your thoughts and returned your gaze to Stefano, who had seemed to calm down slightly now that the music was drowning out most of the noise of the fireworks. You gave a quiet sigh as you continued to watch him, the minutes droning on to feel like hours until the fireworks finally ceased their incessant explosions outside.

The song carried on about thirty seconds after the explosions outside finally stopped, and once it was over, you turned your phone off and heard that Stefano’s breaths had returned to normal. This relieved you slightly, but you could still hear him murmuring something about the pain he was currently experiencing. You glanced down at your phone to see that it was currently 10:13 at night, and you desperately hoped that Stefano wouldn’t suffer through this episode for much longer. Nevertheless, you continued to lay alongside him, making sure that he wasn’t going through all the pain alone this time.

After another few minutes, you finally heard him stop murmuring to himself, and you sighed softly—perhaps this meant that his episode was finally over, and he was finally free of the pain. You saw him shift slightly, his head lifting off the pillow he had been laying on to glance down at the nearly-melted ice cube in his hand. He dropped what little remained of it onto the floor without care, then glanced over his shoulder at you.

“…( ** _Name_** )?”

You gave him a small smile and a nod, reassuring him that he was right back where he both needed and wanted to be. You saw him sit up for a moment, taking in his surroundings as he attempted to reconnect with his current reality, and then once again turn his gaze to you.

“ _Non posso vivere senza di te_ …”

You tilted your head upon hearing him whisper these words, unaware of what they meant. You parted your lips in order to ask him what he had just said, but were stopped as Stefano moved himself over you and wrapped his arms tightly around your body, tugging you up from the bed slightly so he could hold you closer with more ease. This took you by surprise, but you deeply enjoyed the contact and held him close in return; it stayed like this for a few moments, but Stefano eventually allowed your back to rest against the bed once more, his fingertips lightly trailing down your cheek to eventually cup it within his palm.

“ _Ti voglio sempre al mio fianco_ , ( ** _Name_** ).”

With yet another whispered set of words, Stefano leaned down and pressed a loving kiss against your lips; compared to the soft pecks that you were so used to and fond of, this kiss was deeper, and much more passionate than anything the two of you had shared before. It brought you back to the night several months prior where you nearly lost yourself in your desire for him, but there was one distinct difference between that night and where you currently were.

Tonight, you _would_ lose yourself to him.

=2=

Author’s Note (1): Happy new year, everyone. I hope that this year brings all of you much joy!

Author’s Note (2): After extensive research about PTSD, and talking with a good friend of mine whose father suffers from PTSD and also works with children who suffer from it as well, I was able to put both professional practices and personal practices into play when dealing with Stefano’s PTSD, which I greatly believe that he does suffer from. The music, the ice cube, the sound blocking—it all stems from the conversation I had with my friend, and from the research I did that gave various coping mechanisms for dealing with PTSD flashbacks and episodes.

Author’s Note (3):

  * _Non posso vivere senza di te_ = I can’t live without you.
  * _Ti voglio sempre al mio fianco =_ I want you always by my side _._



Author’s Note (4): Krimson City does, in fact, have a bay! I used the completed map found in the original The Evil Within in order to figure out where everyone in this particular story would be located, and judging by that map, Stefano, Reader, and Vincent all live and work on the western part of Krimson City, which is extremely close to the bay that leads out into the ocean on the eastern part of Krimson City.


End file.
